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OLD  JIM  CASE  OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW 


OLD   JIM    CASE,   THE   VILLAGE   ORACLE 


Old  Jim  Case 

of 

South    H  olio  w 

By 
EDWARD    I.    RICE 


NEW    YORK 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 
1909 


ALL  SIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,    1909,  BY  DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHED,   FEBRUARY,    1909 


TO  MY   SON 

EDWARD   FLINT   RICE 

THIS   BOOK   IS   AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


2137890 


FOREWORD 

EVERY  man,  woman  and  child  around  South 
Hollow  knew  Old  Jim  Case.  His  well-worn 
slouch  hat,  his  large,  baggy  trousers,  soft  shirt, 
and  handkerchief  carelessly  tied  about  his  neck, 
possessed  almost  the  dignity  of  landmarks. 

The  old  fellow's  smile,  that  gave  a  downward 
bend  to  his  heavy,  round  moustache,  and  his 
beaming  countenance,  made  it  easy  to  liken  him 
to  a  walrus ;  but  a  friendly  walrus  he  was.  It 
was  one  of  his  favourite  sayings  that  "Good  nature 
is  the  cheapest  commodity  in  the  world,"  and  he 
always  had  it  in  generous  abundance. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEX  PAGE 

Foreword vii 

I.     Town  Gossip  in  the  General  Store 

at  South  Hollow      ...          3 
II.     An  Account  Balanced         .         .         16 

III.  The  Departure     .         .         .         .26 

IV.  Frank  Ridgeway's   Lonely   Ride 

in  Bennett's  Old  Stage     .         .  35 
V.     The  Widow  Wetherby  Makes  an 

Early  Morning  Call           .         .  41 

VI.     A  Horse  Trade    ....  49 
VII.     The  Lightning-rod  Agent  Hears 

Old  Jim's  Stories      ...  79 
VIII.     Old   Jim  Tells   Cal  Henry  Ben- 

nings's  Story    .         ...  96 
IX.     Henry  Bennings's  Unpleasant  Sur- 
prise            113 

X.     A  Stranger  in  the  Village     .         .119 

XI.     Old  Jim  Case  Goes  to  New  York  130 
XII.     Hiram  Wilcox    Visits    Old     Jim 

Case       .....  154 

XIII.     Election  Day  at  South  Hollow    .  172 


OLD  JIM  CASE 


CHAPTKR 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 


The  'Coon  Hunt 
Henry  Bennings  in  Trouble 
Old  Jim's  Secret  out 
The  Salmon  Reunion 
Spirits  in  the  Town  Hall 


PACK 
192 
209 

222 
232 

242 


PEOPLE  OF  THE  STORY 

OLD  JIM  CASE  —  The  village  oracle. 

CAL  HEMINGWAY  —  The  genial  proprietor 
of  the  general  store. 

HIRAM  WILCOX  -  -  Who  knows  everybody's 
business. 

FRANK  RIDGEWAY  —  A  young  man,  honest 
and  ambitious,  who  is  unappreciated 
by  many  of  his  fellow  townsmen. 

HENRY  BENNINGS  —  Clerk  in  the  bank,  whose 
methods  are  not  beyond  criticism. 

THE  HONOURABLE  TIMOTHY  SALMON — Presi- 
dent of  the  South  Hollow  Bank,  who 
aspires  politically. 

HATTIE  SALMON  —  The  banker's  daughter. 

ORLIE  SPRAGUE  —  An  honest  farmer  who 
believes  everybody  else  to  be  the  same. 

BETSEY  —  His  wife. 


xii  OLD  JIM  CASE 

ELMER  PERKINS  -  -  The  village  undertaker, 
with  an  eye  for  business,  but  no 
business. 

POP  —  The  proud  keeper  of  the  village  tavern. 

THE  WIDOW  WETHERBY  —  The  village 
gossip. 

BENNETT  —  The  old  stage  driver  who  makes 
daily  trips  between  South  Hollow  and 
Syracuse. 

EPH  LANCASTER  -  -  The  village  carpenter. 

ELDER  ARMSTRONG  —  One  of  the  pillars  of 
the  Church. 

THE  LIGHTNING  ROD  AGENT  —  A  typical 
country  drummer. 

FRANK  DUNBAR  —  A  hermit. 

EDWARD  BAILEY  —  An  unscrupulous  gam- 
bler from  the  city. 

WINNIE  FOWLER  -  -  The  oldest  inhabitant. 

JIM  CALLOWAY  —  The  village  constable. 

QUIGLEY  —  An  old  chum  of  Jim's  who  is 
always  ready  for  a  'coon  hunt. 


OLD  JIM  CASE  OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW 


CHAPTER  I 


A  PEEK  into  the  "general  store"  at  South 
•*  *-  Hollow  any  Saturday  night  would  show 
every  sugar  barrel  occupied  and  the  counter 
holding  its  full  capacity.  In  fact,  there 
would  be  standing  room  only,  and  very  little 
of  that,  not  that  the  store  was  swamped  with 
business,  but  Old  Jim  Case  was  there.  On 
these  occasions  he  told  of  his  experiences, 
how  he  had  a  wild  hunt  for  a  'coon;  made 
a  horse  trade;  lost  a  big  trout;  or  about 
his  only  trip  to  the  Metropolis,  to  which 
he  always  referred  as  "the  last  time  I  was  in 
New  York." 

It  was  Saturday  night,  and  the  usual  crowd 
had  gathered.  The  regular  every-night  sitters 
were  in  their  chairs  around  the  old  stove  which 


4  OLD  JIM  CASE 

had  occupied  its  dignified  position  for  a  number 
of  years  beyond  mortal  ken. 

If  all  the  letters  on  the  weather-stained  sign 
across  the  building  had  been  visible,  they  would 
have  read,  as  they  once  had  in  ages  past, 


CALVIN     AVERY     HEMMINGWAY 
GENERAL     STORE 


Among  his  varied  activities,  Mr.  Hemming- 
way  was  the  proud  postmaster  of  South 
Hollow;  and  his  stock  was  a  miscellany  from 
all-day  suckers  to  ploughs  and  harrows.  But 
nobody  ever  thought  of  calling  the  proprietor 
anything  but  "Cal,"  unless  it  might  be  on  a 
Sunday  when  he  was  a  little  over-spruced. 

Cal  himself,  tall  and  round-shouldered,  was 
always  working  about  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
scarcely  ever  accomplishing  much,  or,  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  ever  zealous  to  accomplish 
much.  When  he  stood  behind  the  counter 
making  a  cornucopia  out  of  brown  paper  to  be 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  5 

filled  from  the  old  tin  scoop  which  for  years 
had  been  working  in  and  out  of  the  sugar 
barrel,  he  was  a  study  in  character.  By 
standing  on  tip-toes,  he  could  easily  brush  the 
cobwebs  off  the  ceiling,  but  he  never  did! 

On  this  particular  Saturday  night  Old  Jim 
Case  was  holding  his  hearers  spellbound. 
'  You  could  have  heard  a  peanut  crack,"  to 
quote  a  local  pleasantry.  He  was  telling 
of  his  younger  days  when  his  favourite  drink 
was  a  "stone  wall,"  a  weird  combination  of 
hard  cider  and  squirrel  whiskey.  "Squirrel 
whiskey,"  Jim  Case  took  pains  to  explain  to 
strangers,  "makes  you  want  to  climb  a 
tree." 

"I  've  always  noticed,"  spoke  up  Old  Jim, 
as  he  looked  about  him,  "that  us  farmers, 
when  we  git  on  a  biled  shirt  and  a  derby  hat, 
feel  about  the  same  as  a  city  feller  wearin' 
a  soft  shirt  and  a  slouch  hat.  We  sort  oj 
b'lieve  that  it 's  our  duty  to  over-in-dulge. 
In  the  old  days  I  wuz  one  o'  them  kind  what 
could  n't  even  pin  a  badge  on  my  coat 


6  OLD  JIM  CASE 

without  a-feelin'  that  I  had  a  licence  ter  paint 
the  town  red." 

:'  Yes,"  laughed  Cal,  "there  hain't  no  sadder 
sight  than  ter  see  a  perfectly  sober  man  all 
covered  with  ribbins  and  badges." 

"Wa'al,"  resumed  Old  Jim,  "  T  wuz  one 
o'  them  nights  when  I  'd  ben  im-bibin'  putty 
free  that  I  crawled  up  into  the  hayloft  of  an 
old  barn  an'  dropped  off  ter  sleep.  'T  wuz  n't 
long  before  I  wuz  awaked  by  someone  a-hol- 
lerin'.  I  raised  myself  up  by  leanin'  on  one 
elbow,  an*  listened.  I  knew  that  voice. 
'Twuz  Lem  Wetherby.  'Jim,'  he  wuz 
a-cryin',  'I've  got  Jem,  I've  got  'em.' 
Thinkin'  he  wuz  a-foolin'  as  usual,  I  hollered 
back  in  a  jokin'  sort  o'  way,  'Rats!'  'Yes, 
rats,'  he  cried.  'Now  I  know  they're  real, 
'cause  you  see  'em  too.  There  's  hundreds 
of  'em.' 

"I  lighted  my  old  lantern,  held  it  up  high, 
and  sure  enough  there  wuz  Lem  stabbin' 
away  with  the  pitchfork,  every  now  and  then 
comin'  within  a  few  inches  of  my  feet.  I 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  7 

did  n't  realise  then  what  the  matter  wuz  until 
he  leaned  over  an*  in  a  tremblin'  voice 
whispered  into  my  ear,  'Jim,  they're  all 
plaid  rats!' 

"Then  I  understood  an'  started  out  fer 
help,  and  when  I  come  back  with  the  doctor 
we  found  the  plaid  rats  wuz  gone."  Jim 
raised  his  old  slouch  hat,  and  then  added, 
"An'  so  wuz  Lem." 

"  Dead  huh  ? "  exclaimed  one  of  the  listeners. 

:<Yes,  sir,  dead!  And  after  the  funeral 
I  went  an'  bought  Lem  a  stone  slab  'stead  of 
a  stone  wall,  and  I  had  it  put  up  at  the  head 
o'  his  grave.  It's  the  one  on  the  east  side 
o'  the  cemetery,  under  that  weepin'  willow. 
I  picked  out  the  spot  myself." 

Old  Jim  squinted  and  rubbed  at  his  eyes 
with  the  back  of  his  big,  freckled  hand. 
Then  straightening  up,  he  added,  "The 
reason  I  'm  a-tellin'  of  it  ta-night  is  'cause 
't  wuz  twenty-seven  years  ago  ta-day  that  we 
put  it  thar,  and,  fellers,  I  hain't  taken  a  drink 
sence,  not  from  that  day  ta  this." 


8  OLD  JIM  CASE 

"We  '11  all  agree,"  drawled  out  Hiram 
Wilcox,  "that  Jim  Case  deserves  a  lot  o' 
credit,  an'  that  he  's  ben  a  public  benefactor 
ter  South  Hollow,  fer  sence  Lem  Wetherby 
died  a-stabbin'  plaid  rats  an'  Jim  swore  off 
a-drinkin'  squirrel  whiskey,  the  village  has 
ben  a-runnin'  along  most  peaceful,  and  't  wan' 
'til  here  lately  that  the  town  folks  got  ter 
gossipin'  again." 

Hiram  ran  his  fingers  through  his  long 
gray  whiskers  and  scratched  his  chin. 

"It  seems  that  Frank  Ridgeway,"  he  went 
on,  "is  bein'  talked  of  as  a  good  candidate  fer 
our  next  town  drunk  —  that  is,  if  he  don't 
brace  up  putty  soon." 

"Wa'all,"  said  Jim,  "mebbe  these  stories 
what  y'u  ben  hearin'  about  that  boy  be  true, 
and  mebbe  they  hain't;  but  if  they  be,  some- 
body ought  ter  have  a  friendly  talk  with  him, 
fer  he  kin  quit  the  habit  same  's  I  didr  'cause 
I  hain't  no  better  than  anybody  else.  It  jest 
takes  a  leetle  will  power,  that 's  all." 

Cal  Hemmingway  was  on  his  mettle  at  this. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  9 

Ostentatiously  arranging  some  boxes  on  the 
shelf  and  listening  attentively  to  every  word 
that  had  been  said,  he  now  wrote  down  on  a 
piece  of  paper  a  memorandum  pertaining  to 
the  business  and  stuck  it  emphatically  on  the 
spindle  for  future  reference.  Then  he  spoke 
up.  '' That's  all  well  enough  fer  y'u  ter 
talk,  Jim  Case,  but  ye  see  y'u  and  Frank 
Ridgeway  be  two  different  people.  Y'u  cul- 
tivated your  love  fer  liquor  yerself,  and  Frank 
Ridgeway  come  naturally  by  hisn.  'Twuz 
handed  down  ter  him.  As  Elder  Armstrong 
would  say,  't  wuz  he-red-itary." 

"  He-red-itary  nothin'!"  interrupted  Old 
Jim.  "I  don't  take  no  stock  in  these  hand- 
me-downs.  A  man 's  got  ter  stand  up  e-rect, 
an'  be  sized  up  fer  jest  what  he  is  himself. 
Nobody  is  goin'  ter  take  time  these  days  ter 
hunt  up  family  trees." 

"Wa'al,"  continued  Cal,  "there  hain't 
none  of  us  what  kin  say  we  've  ever  seen  Frank 
Ridgeway  liquored  up.  Course,  we  're 
hearin'  stuff  about  him  all  the  time,  and  I 


io  OLD  JIM  CASE 

guess  there  hain't  no  doubt  but  what  it 's 
true;  still,  I  allow  that  p'rhaps  he  can't  help 
it,  and  that  mebbe  he  hain't  ta  blame." 

Cal  climbed  up  on  the  end  of  the  counter, 
and,  putting  his  hands  firmly  on  each  knee, 
leaned  forward  and  went  on  with  what  was 
clearly  meant  in  confidence. 

"  I  remember  gettin'  over-gauged  once  myself 
when  it  would  n't  Ve  jest  done  ter  a-met  the 
church  folks,  and  Jt  wan't  my  fault  neither. 
Ye  see  I  got  up  with  an  awful  cold  —  could  n't 
hardly  speak  —  so  I  thought  I  Jd  take  a  little 
whiskey  with  syrup.  Somebody  wuz  a-tellin* 
how  it  would  knock  colds  sky-high.  I  kind 
o*  spent  most  oj  my  time  over  ter  the  tavern 
that  day,  re-ligiously  at-tendin*  ter  that  cold. 
The  furst  time  I  went  over  there  I  could  n't 
hardly  talk,  so  I  held  one  hand  up  ter  my 
throat,  and  pointed  with  the  other  ter  the  Old 
Crow  and  syrup  bottle.  When  I  come  out  o' 
there  the  last  time,  they  say  I  could  n't  only 
talk  but  it  appeared  that  I  could  holler  putty 
good  and  loud,  but  I  '11  be  danged  if  I  could 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  n 

walk  furst-rate.  Ye  see  it  kind  o'  drove  the 
cold,  as  it  were,  from  my  throat  and  lungs 
down  somehow  inter  my  legs." 

:'Yes,  I  guess  so,"  retorted  Old  Jim. 
"Probably  ye  had  what  Dave  Slocum  'ud 
call  legeritis.  He  says  it  generally  attacks 
ye  comin'  hum  from  the  tavern,  goin'  out  ter 
meet  a  man,  er  right  after  a  bad  cold.  Says 
it 's  most  noticeable  on  Fourth  of  July  and 
St.  Patrick's  Day,  but  has  ben  known  ter 
appear  about  twelve  o'clock  P.  M.  at  the 
endin'  of  a  birthday." 

In  the  general  uproar  that  followed,  one  of 
the  sitters  came  forth  with  the  remark  that 
Dick  Spencer  had  got  so  he  'd  catch  cold  on 
purpose  so  as  to  have  an  excuse  to  drink 
whiskey  and  syrup. 

"I'll  have  an  excuse  in  about  a  minute, 
Mr.  Smarty,  ta  spoil  that  lovely  complexion 
o'  yourn,"  growled  out  Spencer.  Old  Jim 
was  just  in  time  to  catch  the  insulted  gentle- 
man's arm  and  twist  from  his  upraised  hand  a 
bar  of  soap  which,  in  a  minute  more,  might 


12  OLD  JIM  CASE 

have  broken  up  the  party.  He  pushed  Spencer 
down  into  his  seat,  and  replaced  the  soap  in 
the  box  on  the  counter.  As  he  did  so  he  added 
"Don't  git  riled  up,  Dick.  I  '11  swear  ye  '11 
take  a  drink  jest  as  often  as  anybody,  and  that 
ye  don't  need  no  excuse  neither." 

With  this,  the  great  pacificator  reached 
over,  and,  as  he  took  another  handful  of 
peanuts  out  of  the  brown  sack,  said,  "Pop 
over  ter  the  tavern  wuz  a-tellin'  'bout  a  brand 
o'  whiskey  that  he  called  Phonograph  Rye. 
Said  he  named  it  that  'cause  it  could  talk, 
and  anybody  what  'd  take  a  couple  o'  drinks 
o'  that  liquor  could  n't  stop  a-talkin' ;  said 
he  'd  guarantee  they  would  n't  run  down  in  all 
night.  Why,  he  told  about  a  deaf  and  dumb 
man  a-comin'  in  there  one  day  with  some 
friends  and  how  he  took  four  drinks  out  o* 
that  bottle  and  went  out  a-talkin'  jest  the 
same  as  the  rest.  Now  with  y'u,  Cal,  it 's 
jest  a  question  as  ter  whether  y'u  knocked  out 
that  cold  er  not,  but  what  we  were  discussin' 
wuz  how  ter  cure  Frank  Ridgeway's  appetite 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  13 

fer  liquor,  that  is,  providin'  all  this  'ere 
gossip  be  true." 

"I  cured  the  cold  all  right,"  answered  Cal, 
as  he  slid  down  off  the  counter,  "and  the 
headache,  too,  and  what 's  more,  I  'd  like  ter 
cure  Frank  Ridgeway." 

Hiram  Wilcox,  who  had  been  sitting  tipped 
back  in  his  chair,  nodding  agreement  and 
dissent  in  turn  to  what  was  said,  suddenly 
grew  too  vigorous  in  his  movements  and  found 
himself,  with  a  crash,  on  the  floor.  He  looked 
about  him  at  first  pugnaciously,  and,  discover- 
ing that  he  alone  was  to  blame,  continued  the 
discussion,  unabashed. 

"I  guess  y'u  folks  don't  remember  Frank 
Ridgeway's  father,  Ralph  Ridgeway,  do  ye  ? 
Wa'al,  sir,  I  knowed  him  years  ago.  In  them 
days  they  used  ter  call  him  Budge.  Guess 
he  got  that  name  from  budgin'  all  the  time. 
He  went  away  from  these  parts  and  every- 
body wuz  mighty  glad,  I  reckon,  and  hoped 
he  'd  stay,  but  finally  after  a  year  er  so  he  came 
trampin'  back.  He  went  straight  ter  his 


i4  OLD  JIM  CASE 

father  's  house,  opened  the  door,  walked  in, 
and  said,  'Father,  I've  come  hum  ter  die.' 
The  old  man  looked  over  his  spectacles,  and 
said,  'Budge,  ye 're  a  liar;  ye  've  come  hum 
ta  spend  the  winter.'  Wa'al,  sir,  dy  ye  know 
I  kin  remember  when  he  came  in  the  tavern 
one  mornin'  'bout  eleven  o'clock.  He  wuz 
half  full  at  the  time,  but  that  did  n't  matter; 
he  wanted  another  drink.  'Budge,'  said  Pop, 
the  tavern  keeper,  'ye  can't  have  another 
drink  until  jest  before  ye  go  ta  bed.'  'Pop,' 
Budge  answered,  'give  me  the  drink  and  I  '11 
go  ta  bed  now." 

Hiram  squinted  his  eye,  adjusted  his  glasses, 
and  then  went  on. 

"Budge  Ridgeway  could  drink  more 
whiskey  than  any  man  that  ever  lifted  a  glass 
in  these  parts.  He  kept  a-goin'  from  bad  ter 
worse  until  finally  his  wife  and  the  women  folk 
got  up  a  sort  o'  temperance  society,  a-thinkin* 
perhaps  they  could  reform  him.  But  he 
kept  right  on  a-drinking  jest  the  same. 

"One  day  Budge  went  out  fishin'  and  it 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  15 

seems  he  could  n't  git  his  pole  jest  where  he 
wanted  it,  so  he  climbed  out  on  the  limb  of  a 
tree,  and  as  luck  would  have  it  the  darned 
limb  broke,  and  poor  Budge  went  down  inter 
the  water  and  drownded,  and,  boys,  that  Js 
the  story  of  Frank  Ridgeway's  father." 

There  was  dead  silence  until  Old  Jim  spoke 
up.  "P'rhaps  there  is  some  excuse  fer  the 
boy.  Anyway,  I  think  it 's  a  putty  good  joke 
on  the  women  folks.  Ye  see  they  'd  ben 
a-hollerin'  fer  'bout  ten  years  how  whiskey 
would  kill  Budge,  and  it  seems  it  wuz  water 
after  all." 


CHAPTER  II 

AN  ACCOUNT  BALANCED 

THE  little  village  of  South  Hollow  seemed 
wrapped  in  peace  and  quiet,  except 
for  the  clang  of  the  church  bell  ringing  out 
the  announcement  of  the  Wednesday  evening 
prayer  meeting. 

Many  of  the  town  folks  were  wending  their 
way  in  the  direction  of  the  little  white  church 
on  the  corner.  Among  them  was  the  Honour- 
able Timothy  Salmon,  straight  as  an  arrow, 
gray-beard,  high  hat  of  the  old-fashioned  type 
and  his  long  frock  coat  surely  carried  the  air 
of  genuine  dignity.  By  his  side  walked  his 
only  child,  a  beautiful  girl  of  nineteen.  She 
had  the  features  of  her  mother;  but  no 
remembrance  of  her,  as  she  had  died  when  she 
was  but  a  child. 

Not  far  behind  came  Henry  Bennings,  the 

16 


OLD  JIM  CASE  17 

new  clerk  in  her  father's  bank.  He  was  what 
might  be  called  a  handsome  fellow,  with  light 
hair  and  curling  moustache.  He  dressed  a 
little  loud  for  a  village  boy;  perhaps  a  bit 
extravagant,  but  he  always  had  an  individu- 
ality that  made  him  appear  different  from  the 
rest,  and  a  swaggering  walk  that,  with  the 
older  folks,  might  have  appeared  affected. 
He  caught  up  with  the  Salmons  just  as  they 
were  turning  in  through  the  door  of  the  old 
meeting  house,  and  was  in  time  to  accept  an 
invitation  to  occupy  a  seat  in  their  pew. 
During  the  service  he  held  half  of  the  open 
book  as  they  stood  and  sang  hymns  together. 
When  the  meeting  was  over,  Henry  Bennings 
accompanied  Hattie  Salmon  home,  as  her 
father  had  unfinished  work  at  his  office. 

It  was  a  delightful  summer  night,  warm, 
with  a  little  shifting  breeze,  and  they  found  it 
very  comfortable  on  the  porch,  where  they 
spent  the  balance  of  the  evening. 

Frank  Ridgeway  had  been  employed  in  the 
village  bank  eight  years,  and  now  held  the 


i8  OLD  JIM  CASE 

position  of  cashier.  He  was  bright,  accurate, 
and  a  most  willing  worker,  a  man  of  good 
judgment,  and  quick  at  reading  human 
nature.  It  was  not  that  he  lacked  ambition 
that  he  allowed  himself  to  become  what 
appeared  to  be  a  permanent  fixture  in  the 
country  bank,  for  he  had  often  thought  how 
he  might  do  better  in  the  city,  but  there  was 
something  that  held  him  from  leaving  the 
village  —  a  something  that  he  had  never  told, 
not  even  to  his  mother. 

The  day  had  been  a  busy  one  at  the  bank 
and  he  was  just  getting  ready  to  close  up, 
when  Timothy  Salmon  arrived  and  walked 
around  behind  the  counter,  jingling  his 
keys  in  an  effort  to  find  the  smallest  one, 
which  finally  opened  his  desk.  As  he 
pushed  back  the  roller  top  he  glanced  over  at 
Ridgeway. 

"Been  working  overtime,  Frank?" 

"That  is  nothing  unusual  for  me,  sir," 
was  Ridgeway's  reply. 

The  president  settled  down  in  his  chair, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  19 

and  after  adjusting  his  spectacles,  took  some 
papers  from  a  pigeonhole. 

"Well,  my  boy,  work  never  hurt  anybody 
that  I  ever  knew." 

He  tapped  his  letter-opener  on  the  desk,  as 
he  glanced  over  a  paper  lined  with  figures. 

Frank  observed  him  closely,  hoping  that  he 
would  look  up,  but  the  old  gentleman  seemed 
absorbed  in  his  work,  so  he  walked  to  the 
counter  and  tried  to  kill  time  by  straightening 
things  around.  He  filled  an  inkstand  and 
put  new  pens  in  the  old  penholders.  After 
a  time  the  president  called  to  him.  "Did 
Miller  take  care  of  that  note  ?  It  was  due 
to-day." 

"  Paid  half,"  came  the  answer,  "and  renewed 
the  balance  for  one  month." 

"Huh!"  Salmon  drew  from  his  vest 
pocket  a  little  book  in  which  he  made  an 
entry.  "One  month,  hey?" 

"Yes,  sir;  he  expects  to  get  some  pension 
money  at  that  time." 

"Oh,  that 's  so;  come  to  think  he  did  leave 


20  OLD  JIM  CASE 

the  village  for  a  couple  of  weeks  during  the 
war.  How  about  Dick  Spencer  ?  My  book 
here  says  he  agreed  to  pay  when  he  sold  his 


corn/' 


"Guess  he  has  n't  sold  it  yet." 

"No;  probabilities  are  he  never  will. 
Don't  see  how  I  ever  came  to  take  his  story 
for  corn."  The  old  man  laughed  a  little  at 
his  own  joke,  and  turned  over  another  page. 
"  By  the  way,  Frank,  what  became  of  that  note 
of  Orlie  Sprague  ?  Seems  to  me  we  called 
that  paper,  did  n't  we  ? " 

"Yes,  sir;  don't  you  remember?  And 
Old  Jim  Case  paid  it." 

"So  he  did.  So  he  did!  The  old  fool! 
He  'd  do  well  to  mind  his  own  business.  I  'd 
liked  to  have  got  hold  of  that  farm  myself." 

Salmon  gritted  his  teeth  and  looked  at  the 
next  line. 

"Here's  Perkins,  the  undertaker;  why 
don't  he  pay  that  sixty  dollars  ?  No  reason 
why  we  should  drop  him  just  because  it 's 
charged  over  to  profit  and  loss." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  21 

"I  saw  him  last  week.  Says  he  expects  to 
make  a  payment  within  ten  days  at  the  latest 
providing  things  come  about  as  he  hopes." 

Salmon  lowered  his  book  and  looked  at  the 
ceiling.  "Don't  believe  his  hopes  will  pan 
out,  for  the  doctor  told  me  yesterday  that 
Winnie  Fowler  was  improving,  and  that, 
while  he  was  over  eighty,  he  thought  if  he  got 
well  that  he  was  good  for  ten  years  yet." 

"I  suppose  that  means  that  we  will  have  to 
wait."  Ridgeway  covered  his  mouth  to  hide 
a  smile. 

The  president  sighed.  "Yes;  and  the 
worst  of  it  is  Perkins  will  forget  how  to  conduct 
a  funeral  if  somebody  don't  give  him  a  chance 
to  keep  his  hand  in  pretty  soon." 

Frank  Ridgeway  was  now  leaning  with  one 
elbow  on  Mr.  Salmon's  desk;  his  expres- 
sion had  changed.  He  thought  the  time  had 
arrived  for  him  to  speak  for  himself. 

"I   have   something  to   say   to   you,   Mr. 

Salmon,  and  I  guess  this  is  the  best  opportunity 
I  may  have,  while  we  are  here  alone." 


22  OLD  JIM  CASE 

The  old  gentleman  placed  his  penholder 
between  his  teeth,  and  after  using  his  blotter, 
looked  up. 

"  I  will  be  through  at  the  bank  when  we  close 
Saturday  noon  —  through  for  good." 

The  president  returned  the  penholder  to 
its  proper  place.  His  chair  squeaked  as  he 
turned  to  one  side  and  with  a  surprised  expres- 
sion looked  squarely  at  Ridgeway.  The  light 
shone  against  the  boy's  face,  and  he  could  see 
that  he  was  in  earnest. 

"Through!  Huh,  let 's  see!"  He  rubbed 
his  hands  back  and  forth  along  the  arms  of  his 
chair.  "You've  been  here  six,  seven  —  yes, 
it 's  eight  years." 

"Yes,  sir;  eight  years,"  repeated  Ridgeway. 
"Eight  long  years,  and  I  might  ask  if  you  have 
not  been  satisfied  with  my  work  ? " 

"You  know  better  than  to  ask  such  a 
question.  We  shall  miss  you,  my  boy." 
He  spoke  in  a  fatherly  tone,  hoping  possibly 
that  he  would  change  his  mind.  "  But  what 's 
the  meaning  of  all  this,  and  so  sudden  ? 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  23 

Has  someone  been  showing  you  how  to  get 
rich  quick  ? " 

"I  never  expect  to  be  rich;  but  there  are 
personal  reasons  why  I  must  go." 

"  It  is  n't  that  you  don't  like  Henry  Bennings, 
is  it  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  removed  his  specks  and 
rubbed  them  with  his  handkerchief. 

The  question  took  Ridgeway  by  surprise, 
and  after  a  moment's  thought  he  answered, 
"I  have  never  said  that  I  objected  to  Mr. 
Bennings,  but  from  the  stories  he  has  told 
about  the  village,  it  is  evident  that  he  does  n't 
like  me." 

Here  the  old  man  straightened  back  in  his 
chair.  "Do  you  deny  whatever  he  may  have 
said?" 

Ridgeway  buttoned  up  his  coat  and  shoved 
both  hands  in  his  side  pockets.  "  Mr.  Salmon, 
to  you  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  deny  or 
affirm  anything.  You  have  just  said  that  I 
have  been  in  your  employ  for  eight  years. 
Am  I  to  believe  that  you,  too,  are  ready  to 
believe  these  stories  ? " 


24  OLD  JIM  CASE 

It  was  evident  that  Salmon  had  really 
taken  a  liking  to  Henry  Bennings,  for  he 
looked  angry,  at  Ridgeway's  remarks;  and, 
turning  back  to  his  desk,  he  fumbled  about 
in  his  vest  pocket  and  once  more  produced  his 
memorandum  book. 

"By  the  way,  Frank,  how  about  that  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollar  note  of  your  father's  ?" 
He  opened  a  little  drawer,  and  taking  the  note 
out,  said,  "Here  it  is,  signed  'Ralph  Ridge- 
way/  I  know  it 's  outlawed,  but  you  agreed 
to  pay  it  if  I  would  promise  at  the  time  not  to 
make  the  matter  public.  How  about  that, 
hey?"  He  laid  the  note  on  his  desk,  and 
rubbing  his  hands  together,  looked  toward 
Ridgeway. 

Frank  was  looking  out  of  the  window. 
He  turned  quickly.  "I  told  you,  sir,  that  if 
you  would  give  me  time  that  I  would  pay  every 
dollar  of  it,  for  I  never  wanted  my  mother  to 
know  of  that  affair  of  father's,  as  you  know 
he  gave  her  trouble  enough." 

Salmon  returned  the  note  to  the  drawer, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  25 

saying,  "He  made  everybody  trouble;  he  was 
a  common  " 

Before  he  had  time  to  say  "drunkard," 
Ridgeway  broke  in,  "That  will  do.  I  told 
you,  sir,  that  I  would  not  leave  the  bank  until 
that  note  was  paid  in  full  with  interest.  I  now 
have  to  my  credit  in  this  bank  the  amount,  and 
a  little  more.  You  shall  be  paid  in  full  to- 
morrow. Then  you  will  have  kept  your 
promise  and  I  mine.  You  know,  Mr.  Salmon, 
that  you  never  could  have  collected  a  cent,  but 
to  save  my  mother's  feelings  I  am  paying  it. 
You  know  that  the  original  loan  was  only  two 
hundred  dollars,  and  that  the  fifty  was  your 
bonus;  to  be  plain,  usury  —  the  old,  old 
trick  to  beat  the  law." 

Ridgeway  stopped  abruptly.  He  saw  that 
he  was  forgetting  himself.  He  thought  of 
Hattie  Salmon,  and  reaching  for  his  hat,  he 
said,  "To-morrow,  sir,  we  shall  balance 
accounts;  and  for  myself  I  shall  rule  up  the 
past  and  start  my  life  over  again,  and  with  a 
new  set  of  books." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    DEPARTURE 

TT  THEN  Jim  Case  was  n't  fishing  or 
hunting  or  making  a  horse  trade,  he 
was  generally  playing  checkers.  He  always 
carried,  rolled  up  in  one  pocket,  an  old 
piece  of  oil-cloth  on  which  was  a  print  of  a 
checker-board,  and  a  set  of  checkers  in  the 
other.  These  he  would  flash  out  on  the  least 
provocation,  arranging  the  checkers  and  asking 
some  bystander  to  lead  off.  Although  Jim 
played  with  all  comers,  it  was  rarely  that  his 
opponent  ever  worked  his  way  into  the  king 
row. 

This  night,  while  he  was  playing  a  game 
with  Cal  Hemmingway  and  the  usual  crowd 
looked  on  idly,  the  bell,  which  for  years  had 
announced  the  arrival  of  a  possible  customer, 

set  to  jingling.     The  store  door  opened  and  a 

26 


OLD  JIM  CASE  27 

lady  entered.  Cal,  at  this  particular  time, 
was  watching  Jim  get  into  shape  to  take  three 
for  one,  and  it  was  not  until  many  moves  had 
been  made  that  he  deigned  to  look  up.  It 
was  some  time  before  the  game  was  finished, 
as  they  would  both  look  at  the  board  and 
whistle  or  hum  a  tune  for  many  minutes  before 
each  move. 

The  customer  waited  patiently  until  at  last 
the  game  was  over.  You  could  have  told  that 
Jim  Case  had  won  the  game  by  the  way  Cal 
shuffled  along  behind  the  counter  and 
grumbled  to  the  lady,  "Wa'al,  what  kin  I  do 
ferye?" 

She  was  very  anxious  to  purchase  a  _ew 
yards  of  mosquito  netting,  and  added  that 
there  seemed  to  be  a  great  demand  for  mos- 
quito netting  this  season. 

Cal  answered  her  very  abruptly. 

"We  hain't  got  no  skeeter  nettin* —  hain't 
had  none  fer  more  'n  a  week  —  hain't  goin' 
ter  keep  it  no  more.  It 's  got  so  that  we'd  no 
sooner  get  a-playin'  a  game  o'  checkers  than 


28  OLD  JIM  CASE 

some  darned  woman  'ud  come  in  and  always 
want  skeeter  nettin'.  Got  ter  be  sech  a  bother 
had  ter  cut  it  out." 

As  the  lady  went  out  with  a  disgusted  and 
forlorn  look,  Cal  turned  and  scuffled  along 
back.  Old  Jim  had  carefully  picked  up  the 
checkers  and  placed  them  with  the  oilcloth 
in  his  pocket. 

"Ye  see  it  's  a  good  deal  as  Cal  says  about 
this  'ere  he-red-itary,"  said  Hiram  Wilcox, 
continuing  a  conversation  that  the  game 
had  more  or  less  interrupted.  "There's  a 
lot  in  this  havin'  things  born  in  ye, 
and  Frank  Ridgeway,  bein'  a  chip  o'  the 
old  block,  might  'a'  acquired  a  likin'  fer 
liquor." 

Here  the  squeaky  voice  of  Elmer  Perkins, 
the  village  undertaker,  chimed  in.  "It 
appears  that  it  hain't  all  drinkin'  that  Frank 
Ridgeway 's  bein'  accused  of.  Jest  what  has 
ben  a  botherin'  the  community  and  a-settin' 
'em  all  a-talkin'  is  what  he  could  'a'  done  with 
all  the  money  he  drawed  out  o'  the  bank. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  29 

Ye  see  last  Decoration  Day  he  met  Eph 
Lancaster  and  showed  him  his  bank  book, 
and  at  that  time  he  had  there  in  the  bank 
more  'n  two  hundred  dollars  what  he  said  he  'd 
saved  up.  Wa'al,  here  yesterday,  Henry 
Bennings  told  the  Widow  Wetherby  that 
fer  some  reason  er  other  the  account  had  ben 
balanced.  So  it  must  'a'  ben  that  he  'd 
drawed  it  out  fer  somethinV 

"P'rhaps  he'd  ben  gamblin'  it  away," 
said  Hiram  Wilcox. 

"Or  drinkin'  it  up,"  said  Cal. 

"Wa'al,  Henry  Bennings  says  he  's  putty 
sure  it 's  a  leetle  o'  both,"  squeaked  Perkins, 
with  a  wise  look,  at  the  same  time  putting  the 
question  to  Jim  Case.  "What's  your  idee 
about  where  the  money  went  ? " 

"Wa'al,  I  've  ben  listenin'  ter  all  o'  you,  and 
I  think  jest  at  this  time  I  'd  ruther  foller  the 
old  rule:  it 's  ter  think  twice  before  a-speakin' 
and  then  ter  jest  say  nothin'." 

At  this  moment  the  front  door  flew  open 
and  closed  with  a  bang,  and  a  young  man 


30  OLD  JIM  CASE 

with  a  somewhat  tanned  but  clear  complexion 
entered  and  threw  down  a  travelling  bag, 
tossed  his  cane  on  the  counter  and  stood,  tall 
and  erect,  before  the  self-elected  jury  of  South 
Hollow.  A  half-hidden  smile  hovered  about 
the  corners  of  his  mouth.  The  keen,  search- 
ing glance  from  his  dark  eyes  showed  defiance 
and  self-respect. 

"Well,  gentlemen/'  he  said,  with  mock 
dignity,  "whose  case  is  being  decided  to-night 
by  this  worthy  assemblage?" 

"We  were  jest  a-talkin'  a  leetle  while 
ago  about  your  father,  Frank,"  said  Hiram 
Wilcox. 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Perkins.  "We  were 
a-sayin'  that  yer  father,  Ralph  Ridgeway " 

"Never  mind  now,"  said  the  young  man 
quickly.  "I  Ve  come  over  here  to  say  good- 
bye. I  'm  going  away  for  good.  South 
Hollow  and  I  Ve  got  out  of  step.  All  the  old 
women  and  gossips  and  storekeepers  and 
sitters  around  seem*to  be  spending  most  of 
their  time  criticising  folks.  Well,  I  have 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  31 

come  to  the  conclusion  that  instead  of  being 
too  bad  for  South  Hollow  I  Jm  too  good. 
But  before  I  left  I  did  want  to  say  good-bye 
to  you  fellows  and  tell  you  all  that  whatever 
you  heard  about  my  dissipating  was  n't  true 
and  I  hope  you  '11  always  remember  me  as 
you  have  known  me  rather  than  from  what 
you  have  heard." 

Here  he  passed  around  behind  the  old  stove, 
and  taking  them  each  in  turn  by  the  hand  with 
a  firm  grip,  bade  them  good-bye;  and  then, 
picking  up  his  bag  and  cane,  made  his 
way  out  to  the  old  stage  which  had  been 
waiting  at  the  store  door.  They  all  fol- 
lowed, including  Cal,  who  dragged  the 
mailbag,  and  stood  on  the  steps  waving 
their  hands  as  the  stage  driver  swung  his 
whip  and  drove  away. 

When  the  stage  was  out  of  sight  they  all 
turned  and  walked  slowly  back  into  the  store, 
each  taking  the  same  seat  he  had  previously 
occupied.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  for  a 


32  OLD  JIM  CASE 

long  time.  Jim  Case  kept  busy  cleaning  out 
his  pipe  with  his  jack-knife,  while  Hiram 
Wilcox  whistled  and  kept  time,  swinging  his 
leg  back  and  forth.  Cal  Hemmingway  busied 
himself  sorting  the  evening  mail.  Finally 
he  stopped,  and,  leaning  over  the  counter, 
said  "I  tell  ye  it  's  too  blamed  bad  fer 
South  Hollow  ter  lose  a  chap  like  that 
Frank  Ridgeway.  He  's  a  mighty  likely  boy 
after  all." 

"Them  's  my  sentiments,"  spoke  up  Hiram, 
shifting  one  leg  over  the  other.  "That  boy 
wuz  n't  never  'predated  'round  here  neither. 
He  's  a  boy  what  takes  after  his  mother." 

"What  on  earth  ails  ye,  Wilcox?"  said 
Elmer  Perkins.  "Did  n't  ye  just  say  that  he 
took  after  his  father  ?  Hain't  ye  jest  branded 
him  as  a  chip  o'  the  old  block,  and  ben  a-tellin' 
how  that  wuz  probably  the  cause  o'  his 
drinkin'?" 

"Never  ye  mind  what  I  said,  Elmer," 
retorted  Hiram,  growing  a  trifle  red. 
"  P'rhaps  you  fellers  don't  recklect  back  when 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  33 

that  boy's  mother  wuz  the  puttiest  gal  in  these 
parts.  Her  name  then  wuz  Susan  Redfield. 
She  came  from  the  real  old  stock,  the  kind 
what  came  over  in  the  Mayflower,  and  I  tell 
ye  a  feller  what 's  got  a  good  mother  is  putty 
apt  ter  make  a  darned  good  man." 

By  this  time  the  crowd  had  thinned  down 
to  the  regular  sitters,  and  Old  Jim,  noticing 
that  Cal  was  getting  ready  to  close  up,  started 
in  to  help.  He  was  familiar  with  the  daily 
manipulation  of  the  boxes  and  other  plunder, 
and  knew  how  to  fix  things  for  the  night.  As 
he  was  dragging  a  couple  of  chairs  back  to 
the  rear  of  the  store,  he  said,  "Wa'al,  Frank 
Ridgeway  wanted  us  to  remember  him  as  we 
knowed  him  ruther  than  from  what  we  'd 
heared,  and  what  I  liked  about  him  most  o' 
al  wuz  that  in  biddin'  us  good-bye  he  did  n't 
say  nothin'  'bout  nobody  else,  ner  try  ta 
explain  matters;  seemed  ta  know  that  us 
fellers  would  n't  ask  it  of  'im  and  that  the 
rest  on  'em  would  n't  'a'  be-lieved  him  if  he 
had." 


34  OLD  JIM  CASE 

As  Cal  blew  out  the  last  lamp,  they  all 
walked  down  toward  the  door. 

The  town  clock  was  striking  nine  as  the 
proprietor  turned  the  key  in  the  store  door 
and  everybody  started  for  home,  each  with  a 
yawn  bidding  his  host  good  night. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FRANK  RIDGEWAY'S  LONELY  RIDE  IN 
BENNETT'S  OLD  STAGE 


'"ir^HE  creaking  old  stage  slowly  dragged  its 
way  up  the  long,  winding  road  from 
South  Hollow  to  the  summit  of  the  hill. 
Frank  Ridgeway  was  its  sole  passenger. 
Old  Bennett,  the  driver,  sat  up  in  front,  a 
dark,  round-shouldered  sphinx,  slowly  swaying 
from  side  to  side  with  the  jolts  of  the  waggon. 
Incessantly  he  plied  his  stubby  whip  on  the 
"off  nag,"  which,  never  changing  her  gait, 
jogged  along,  always  a  little  behind  and 
utterly  contemptuous  of  the  lash. 

As  old  Bennett  was  stone  deaf,  conversation 
was  impossible.  Furthermore,  Frank  was 
in  no  talking  mood  ;  so  he  brooded  alone  with 
his  own  thoughts.  The  boy  had  now  come 
to  a  true  perception  of  his  situation.  He  was 

35 


36  OLD  JIM  CASE 

on  his  way  into  the  big  world.  In  the  past  he 
had  visited  Syracuse  and  a  few  other  towns 
in  the  immediate  vicinity;  but  the  thought  of 
leaving  South  Hollow,  leaving  his  friends,  and 
leaving  her  —  he  felt  unmanly,  shameful  tears 
coming  in  spite  of  the  bold  front  he  had  put 
up  in  his  farewells  at  the  old  store. 

After  a  few  jabs  and  pokes  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, he  clenched  his  teeth  hard.  "I'll 
forget  it  all,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  looked 
out  of  the  side  of  the  old  stage. 

The  cool  night  air  felt  good  against  his 
flushed  cheeks.  They  had  reached  the 
summit  now  and  the  moon  was  just  rising 
above  the  fog  bank  shrouding  the  valley  below, 
and  away  ahead  he  could  see  the  bright  lights 
of  the  city. 

It  was  a  wonderful  summer's  night.  The 
singing  of  the  insects;  the  glistening  dew; 
the  soft  perfume  from  the  pine  woods  nearby  — 
could  any  man  forget  his  sweetheart  on  such 
a  night?  Frank  Ridgeway  found  it  beyond 
him.  His  resolutions  faded  and  seemed  to 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  37 

mingle  and  melt  in  the  soft  haze,  and  Hattie 
Salmon's  face  appeared  to  brighten  through 
the  shadows,  and  the  ghost  of  her  voice  rang 
in  his  ears. 

"The  dearest  girl  in  all  the  world,"  he  said, 
half  aloud.  "No,  I  can't  forget  her.  How 
could  she  have  believed  all  those  busybodies 
said?" 

Frank  grew  weary  with  the  unhappy 
thoughts  that  crowded  themselves  into  his 
tired  brain.  He  shifted  his  satchel  to  the 
seat  opposite  him  and  leaned  back  from  sheer 
exhaustion.  As  the  old  South  Hollow  stage 
descended  the  long  succession  of  hills,  he 
lived  over  again  in  his  mind  the  one  romance 
of  his  young  life.  Memory's  panorama 
moved  quickly,  its  scenes  passing  distinctly 
before  him  as  though  pictured  by  a  biograph 
thrown  up  against  the  faded  top  of  the  old 
vehicle:  the  church  social  at  the  town  hall 
where  he  had  first  met  Hattie;  the  many 
nights  he  walked  home  with  her  from  prayer 
meeting;  the  day  he  drove  her  to  the  picnic 


38  OLD  JIM  CASE 

at  Green  Lake  (it  was  there  she  had  given 
him  her  tintype) ;  the  sleigh  ride  and  the  dance 
at  Cardiff,  where  she  had  shown  that  she 
thought  well  of  him;  then  the  Thanks- 
giving dinner  at  her  house  when  they  had 
"pulled  the  wish-bone"  and  he  had  won! 
Would  the  wish  he  made  that  day  ever 
come  true  ? 

Then  the  picture  changed.  Henry  Bennings 
moved  into  South  Hollow  to  work  in  her 
father's  bank,  and  met  Hattie  Salmon  at 
Nellie  Lockwood's  surprise  party  and  saw 
her  home;  the  night  he  called  and  met  Benn- 
ings in  Hattie's  parlour  and  for  the  first  time 
found  that  he  had  a  rival;  the  days  that 
followed  when  people  began  to  look  at  him 
queerly  and  suspiciously;  the  night  that  he 
found  his  mother  crying  and  unwilling  to 
believe  the  stories  she  had  heard  about  his 
gambling  and  drinking  on  the  sly;  and  at  last 
the  cruel  climax,  when  Hattie  too  believed 
the  rumours  of  his  dissipation  in  spite  of  his 
protests  of  innocence;  and  then  his  discovery 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  39 

that  Henry  Bennings  was  the  author  of  it  all. 
After  that  there  had  come  his  hard  fight  with 
himself  through  the  long,  silent  nights  when 
his  thoughts  reeled  with  suggestions  as  to 
what  was  best  to  do.  Should  he  seek  recon- 
ciliation with  Hattie  and  publicly  show  up 
Bennings  ?  Or  should  he  go  away  ?  or  stay 
and  prove  the  stories  untrue  ?  And  then,  one 
morning,  the  question  solved  itself  in  a  letter 
from  a  relative  in  New  York.  Would  he  care 
to  leave  the  country  and  try  a  position  in  the 
big  metropolis  ?  He  decided  at  once  to  go. 
"The  gossips'  yarns  will  take  care  of  them- 
selves," he  thought;  and  he  suddenly  wished 
to  leave  a  narrow-minded  community  that 
loved  gossip  so  well.  Now  he  was  on  the 
way  to  better  himself  in  the  world.  His  new 
plans  for  his  future  were  all  made,  and  as  he 
dreamed  of  them  in  the  jostling,  creaking  old 
stage,  he  dared  to  look  far  ahead  —  some 

day 

"Ye 're  jest  in  time  ter  git  yer  ticket," 
yelled  Old  Bennett  in  a  deaf  man's  toneless 


40  OLD  JIM  CASE 

voice,  as  the  stage  coming  to  a  sudden  stop 
sent  the  boy's  satchel  tumbling  to  the  floor. 

After  the  boy's  hasty  hand-shake  and  a 
parting  farewell,  Bennett  stood  and  watched 
Frank  Ridgeway  disappear  through  the  big 
doors  of  the  station.  Then  he  climbed  back 
up  into  the  seat,  picked  up  the  reins,  and,  with 
a  cluck  at  the  old  team,  swung  around  and 
started  rattling  on  his  way  homeward,  back 
to  South  Hollow. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  WIDOW  WETHERBY  MAKES  AN  EARLY 
MORNING  CALL 

EARLY    next   morning,    while    the    dew 
still   sparkled    along  the  roadside,  the 
Widow  Wetherby  picked  her  way  gingerly 
along  the  gravel  walk  down  the  main  street 
of  South  Hollow. 

Mrs.  Wetherby  was  the  widow  of  the  seer 
of  plaid  rats  to  whose  memory  Old  Jim  Case 
had  erected  a  simple  stone  monument.  The 
widow's  duties  and  functions  were  peripatetic. 
The  schoolma'am  of  the  district  and  holding 
the  record  at  the  weekly  sewing  circle  and 
Foreign  Mission  Society  as  the  chief  news- 
monger of  the  village,  she  was  primarily  an 
improvement  on  the  daily  press,  for  the  news- 
paper never  reached  town  until  the  arrival 
of  the  afternoon  stage. 

41 


42  OLD  JIM  CASE 

On  this  beautiful  morning  the  widow  was 
out  as  usual  on  the  alert  for  news.  Down 
the  street  she  made  her  way,  until  she  came 
abreast  of  the  big  garden  which  spread  its 
breadth  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  pretentious 
residence  of  the  Honourable  Timothy  Salmon. 
She  craned  her  neck  over  the  high  stone  wall 
and  almost  danced  with  delight  when  she  saw 
Hattie  Salmon's  pink  sunbonnet  moving  amid 
the  tall  hollyhocks. 

Hattie,  the  one  bright  sunbeam  in  the  life 
of  the  Honourable  Timothy  Salmon,  the 
Autocrat  of  South  Hollow,  lifted  her  long, 
dark  eyelashes,  and  with  a  bewitching  smile, 
sent  her  greetings  over  the  old  wall. 

"Good   morning,    Mrs.   Wetherby." 

"Good  mornin',  Harriet.  S'pose  you  heard 
the  news?" 

"No,"  replied  Hattie,  with  an  air  of 
sarcasm.  "I  wouldn't  be  expected  to  know 
the  news.  This  is  my  first  sight  of  you  to-day, 
Mrs.  Wetherby." 

"Oh,    my    goodness,    now!     Wa'al,    if   it 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  43 

wan't  fer  me,  there  are  a  lot  of  people  that 
would  n't  never  know  what  wuz  goin'  on  in  this 
village  from  one  end  o'  the  year  to  t'other.  I 
did  think  't  would  interest  you  some  to  know 
that  that  loafer,  Frank  Ridgeway,  hez  at  last 
quit  South  Hollow  fer  good." 

"  What 's  that  you  say  —  Frank  Ridgeway 
—  gone  away  ? " 

Hattie  turned  away,  pretending  to  gather 
more  flowers.  Her  cheeks,  that  a  moment 
before  were  like  the  roses  beside  her,  were  pale. 

'Yes,"  gleefully  resumed  the  widow. 
"He  told  the  boys  over  ta  the  store  that  this 
village  wuz  n't  big  enough  fer  him  and  Henry 
Bennings  both  ter  live  in.  Guess  p'rhaps  he 
thought  there  wuz  n't  enough  whiskey  and 
tobaccy  and  girls  in  such  a  small  town  fer 
both  on  'em.  I  '11  bet  now,  if  the  truth  wuz 
known,  he  's  taken  somethin'  with  him  what 
ain't  hisn.  The  tavern  keeper  lost  his  solid 
gold  specks  and  commenced  to  suspect  Frank 
Ridgeway,  when  he  happened  ter  find  'em 
under  a  newspaper  in  the  settin'-room.  I 


44  OLD  JIM  CASE 

said  prob'ly  the  reason  he  did  n't  have  'em 
wuz  'cause  they  wuz  lost  and  he  could  n't 
find  'em.  I  told  Calvin  Hemmingway  if  I 
wuz  him  I  'd  take  an  inventory  o'  the  store 
but  he  said  he  'd  take  a  chance  on  Frank 
Ridgeway's  honesty.  That 's  jest  like  the 
men  —  always  stickin'  up  fer  each  other  no 
matter  what  happens.  Guess  p'rhaps  he  '11 
change  his  tune  when  he  hears  what  Frank 
Ridgeway  did  with  all  his  money  what  he 
drawed  out  o'  the  bank.  Henry  Bennings 
wuz  a-tellin'  me  confidentially  that  - 

The  widow  turning  at  this  moment,  was 
surprised  to  find  herself  without  a  listener; 
for,  during  her  talk,  which  was  fast  and  almost 
in  one  breath,  her  curiosity  had  got  the  better 
of  her  and  she  had  been  looking  up  and 
down  and  across  the  street,  fearful  of  missing 
something  or  somebody,  so  she  had  not  noticed 
that  Hattie  had  fled.  At  the  discovery,  the 
widow  nervously  tied  her  bonnet-strings  under 
her  chin,  and,  throwing  her  nose  high  in  the 
air,  turned  on  her  heel  and  walked  back  up 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  45 

the  street,  mumbling  to  herself  about  the 
ingratitude  of  some  folks. 

In  the  meantime  Hattie  Salmon  was  sitting 
in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room,  in  silence, 
behind  the  bolted  door. 

"Frank  gone  away,  and  for  ever,"  she 
mused,  and  buried  her  head  among  the  soft 
pillows  on  the  broad  window  seat.  She  did 
not  weep,  but  remained  motionless  for  a  long 
time.  Suddenly  she  arose  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  drawing  aside  the  curtains,  looked  out  of 
the  window.  "Why  should  I  care?"  she 
said  to  herself  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  gazing 
long  and  steadily  at  the  heat  waves  dancing  on 
a  neighbouring  roof. 

"  But  I  do  seem  to  care,  Frank,"  she  sighed 
at  length,  "  more  than  you  know." 

She  crossed  the  room  to  her  dainty  writing 
desk,  opened  a  tiny  drawer,  and  from  among 
her  keepsakes  drew  forth  the  shorter  part  of 
a  turkey's  wishbone,  around  it  was  tied  a 
bow  of  blue  ribbon.  "I  have  surely  —  lost," 
she  murmured,  and,  opening  the  window 


46  OLD  JIM  CASE 

screen,  she  was  about  to  throw  the  treasure 
into  the  garden  below.  But  she  did  n't. 
Girls  never  do. 

She  closed  the  window  screen  again,  and 
reasoned  with  herself.  Why  should  she  keep 
her  part  of  the  wishbone  ?  Last  Thanksgiv- 
ing Day  —  how  far  away  it  seemed;  why 
should  she  keep  it  ?  Why  should  n't  she  ? 
It  was  an  unlucky  token,  but  it  was  a  remem- 
brance of  a  golden  day  she  would  never  forget. 

The  breakfast  bell  rang,  and  she  smoothed 
her  hair  and  went  downstairs  to  preside  at  the 
table  of  her  austere  father,  making  an  unusual 
effort  to  appear  calm  and  natural. 

Timothy  Salmon  appeared  to  be  in  the  best 
of  spirits  on  this  occasion,  and  this  gave 
Hattie  courage.  She  poured  the  coffee  and 
helped  her  father  to  a  liberal  portion  of  ham, 
then  braced  herself  for  the  question  uppermost 
in  her  mind. 

"Father,"  said  she,  with  forced  playfulness. 

"What  is  it,  daughter?"  said  his  Honour, 
with  a  benign  smile. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  47 

"Father,"  said  Hattie,  this  time  with  less 
assurance,  "do  you  know  why  Mr.  Ridgeway 
has  gone  away?" 

"Why,  no,"  he  replied,  "unless  he  has  tired 
of  our  society." 

"But,"  she  continued,  "you  know  he  has 
left  South  Hollow  for  some  reason.  Do  you 
believe  all  the  gossipy  stories  that  were  told 
about  him  ?  Don't  you  think  he  was  a 
straightforward  young  man  ?  Why  did  you 
invite  him  to  our  Thanksgiving  dinner  ?  You 
have  n't  asked  him  here  to  dine  since.  But 
you  have  never  said  you  believed  those  awful 
stories  that  have  been  told  about  him." 

She  rested  her  elbows  on  the  table  and 
looked  squarely  across  at  her  parent.  "Do 
you  really  and  truly  believe  that  Frank  Ridge- 
way  drew  his  money  out  of  the  bank  and  spent 
it  in  gambling  and  drinking  ?" 

Timothy  Salmon  remained  silent  for  several 
seconds,  while  his  features  assumed  a  serious 
expression.  "Well,  Harriet,"  he  finally 
replied,  "while  I  cannot  understand  your 


48  OLD  JIM  CASE 

concern  for  the  welfare  of  the  character  of  this 
Frank  Ridgeway,  I  will  give  you  my  honest 
opinion.  I  do  not  believe  Mr.  Ridgeway  spent 
that  money  in  dissipation." 

Although  Hattie's  spirits  rose  many  points  at 
her  father's  answer,  she  did  not  betray  her 
feelings  in  the  least,  and  when  the  meal  was 
finished  she  went  directly  to  the  piano  and 
played  and  sang  an  old  love  song  many  times 
over. 

After  that  she  went  up  to  her  room  and 
replaced  the  bit  of  wishbone  in  the  drawer 
among  her  treasures. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  HORSE  TRADE 

THE  old  tavern  was  well  filled  with  farmers 
who  were  impatiently  waiting  for  the 
Gazette,  the  South  Hollow  weekly.  Some 
were  tipped  back  in  their  chairs,  talking  over 
the  crops;  others  were  arguing  out  the  coming 
political  situations ;  not  a  few  were  in  the  bar- 
room, much  interested  in  the  caprices  of  five 
grimy  dice  that  rattled  along  the  bar.  Pop 
was  frantically  busy  drawing  beer  and  punch- 
ing away  at  an  old  rusty  cash  register.  In  the 
corner  of  his  mouth  he  held  a  short,  well- 
chewed  stub  of  a  black  cigar. 

Pop  himself  was  a  stubby,  round-shouldered 
little  man,  with  a  shiny  bald  head  and  long, 
wavy,  jet  black  side  whiskers.  The  whiskers 
gave  an  unquestionable  dignity  to  the  yellow 
diamond  cross  which  had  adorned  his  shirt 

49 


50  OLD  JIM  CASE 

front  for  the  forty  years  he  had  been  landlord 
of  the  South  Hollow  Hotel. 

Among  those  waiting  for  the  papers  was  Old 
Jim  Case.  He  sat  in  the  corner  looking  out 
of  the  window.  Pop  walked  over  and  spoke 
to  him:  "  Wa'al,  Jim,  they  say  ye  did  n't  play 
the  tip  that  wuz  given  the  boys  over  ter  the 
county  fair  —  the  one  ter  back  Nancy  Jinks 
in  the  two  hundred  dollar  trot.  How  is  it 
that  ye  dodged  that  ?  Ye  're  the  only  one  that 
did  n't  git  scooped.  They  all  sorter  thought 
't  wuz  a  sure  thing." 

"  Have  a  sure  thing  every  year,  don't  they  ?" 
replied  Jim,  still  gazing  out  of  the  window. 

"Dunno  but  they  do,  when  ye  come  ter 
think  of  it." 

"Wa'al,  when  they  handed  it  out  ter  me,  I 
jest  told  'em  I  'd  seen  the  pictures." 

"What  d'  yer  mean  by  that?"  said  Pop, 
rather  bewildered. 

"Mean  by  it!  Why,  didn't  ye  ever  hear 
'bout  Old  Dave  Slocum  a-buyin'  the  drink 
down  in  New  York.  Ye  see  Dave  got 


OF   SOUTH  HOLLOW  51 

kind  o'  faint  and  went  inter  the  hotel  and  asked 
fer  some  rye  whiskey.  The  bartender  set 
out  the  bottle  and  gave  him  a  leetle  ticket 
marked  twenty-five  cents  or  somethin*  like 
that.  Dave  did  n't  notice  the  amount  until 
after  he  'd  had  his  drink,  and  then  he  said, 
*  What 's  all  this  ?  I  kin  git  all  the  liquor  I 
want  hum  fer  ten  cents  a  drink.'  *Wa'al,' 
sez  the  man,  *  guess  ye  don't  know  where  ye 
be.  This  is  the  Hoffman  House,  and  we 
have  ter  git  our  price.  Ye  see  that  picture 
over  there  ?  —  wa'al,'  sez  he,  *  that  cost  fifty 
thousand  dollars.'  Dave  looked  at  it  and 
said  't  wuz  a  real  good  one.  Then  the  feller 
said,  'See  that  one  over  there?  Wa'al,  that 
cost  seventy-five  thousand  dollars.'  'Jim- 
miny  Cracker,'  sez  Dave,  as  he  walked  over 
and  stared  at  it  fer  'bout  ten  minutes.  Then 
he  came  back  and  paid  the  price.  Later  in 
the  day  he  went  in  fer  another  drink,  and 
the  feller  give  him  another  one  of  them 
tickets.  Dave  got  mad  and  banged  a  dime 
down  on  the  bar.  As  he  stamped  away, 


52  OLD  JIM  CASE 

he  snorted  out,  'Ye  be  danged.  I  Ve  seen 
yer  pictures/* 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  a  boy  with 
intricate  designs  of  smut  on  his  face  hollered 
out,  "Clear  the  track  there,  you  yaps!"  and  a 
bundle  of  papers  came  sliding  along  the  floor 
from  his  arms. 

"Wa'al,  here  ye  be,"  said  Pop,  pulling  out 
his  knife,  and  leaning  over  to  cut  the  string. 

In  a  jiffy  each  man  had  his  paper  and  all 
was  quiet  as  they  proceeded  to  post  themselves 
on  what  had  been  going  on  in  and  about  the 
village,  fearful  that  they  might  miss  something. 
The  only  sound  for  some  time  was  the  occa- 
sional rustling  of  a  paper.  The  first  man 
to  speak  was  Old  Jim.  "I  see  here  that  Irey 
Green  has  sold  his  waggon,"  he  said. 

"Get  out!  Hain't  sold  that  waggon  o* 
hisn  with  the  red  wheels,  has  he?"  exclaimed 
Pop  doubtfully,  putting  down  his  Gazette  and 
pushing  his  glasses  up  on  his  forehead. 

"Yep.     It  sez  here't   he  sold  it  yisterday." 

"Don't  it  tell  who  he  sold  it  ter?" 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  53 

"Eph  Lancaster,  it  sez." 

"  Wa'al,  I  want  ter  know!  What  'd  he  give 
fer  it?" 

"Give  twenty-one  dollars." 

"Wa'al,  said!  I  swan  I  did  n't  know  that 
Eph  Lancaster  had  means." 

"Did  n't  know  Eph  Lancaster  had  means!" 
repeated  Old  Jim  scornfully.  "Why,  his 
father  died  eight  years  ago  and  left  him  five 
hundred  dollars,  and  then,  besides,  he  'd  ben 
a-workin'  right  along  at  his  carpenter's  trade. 
I  guess,  Pop,  ef  the  truth  wuz  known,  that  Eph 
is  rich." 

"Let  Js  see,"  said  Pop,  tapping  his  head  a 
few  times  with  his  forefinger,  "he  had  a 
brother  what  came  inter  the  same  amount  o' 
money  at  that  time,  did  n't  he  ? " 

"B'lieve  he  did,"  answered  Jim,  putting 
the  paper  to  one  side  and  leaning  over  to 
tighten  up  his  shoestrings.  "But  ye  see  he 
got  the  swelled  head  and  moved  ter  the  city 
—  wanted  ter  be  pointed  out  as  one  o'  Syra- 
cuse's business  men,  ye  know.  But  he  lost 


54  OLD  JIM  CASE 

all  his  money  before  he  got  ter  the  pointin' 
out  stage." 

"He  did,  hey?  What  kind  o'  business  d' 
he  go  inter  ? " 

"Why,  he  opened  up  some  kind  o'  shop  — 
makin'  buckets,  er  somethin'  -  -  don't  know 
as  I  kin  jest  tell  ye;  anyway,  one  o'  the  city 
fellers  wuz  a-tellin'  me  how  Sidney  Lancaster 
lost  all  his  money  in  a  bucket  shop  o'  some 
kind.  I  asked  him  ef  't  wuz  lack  of  attention 
er  poor  judgment,  and  he  said  it  could  n't  'a' 
ben  lack  of  attention,  'cause  he  wuz  right  there 
a-watchin'  the  figures  from  ten  in  the  mornin' 
'til  three  in  the  afternoon.  Wa'al,  I  did  n't 
want  ter  say  too  much,  but  I  thought  ter  my- 
self, 'a  feller  what  don't  git  around  ter  his 
business  till  ten  in  the  mornin'  and  then  's 
tired  enough  ter  quit  by  three  won't  never  set 
the  world  on  fire." 

Jim  yawned,  and,  picking  up  his  paper, 
continued  his  reading.  Pop  straightened  his 
sheet  out  with  a  slap  of  his  hand,  and,  pushing 
his  spectacles  back  down  over  his  nose, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  55 

mumbled  out,  "That  Sidney  Lancaster  never 
did  have  over  'n  above  business  a-bil-ity." 
Then  he  bowed  his  head,  once  more  absorbed 
in  the  news.  He  scanned  the  different  head- 
lines for  a  time  and  finally  looked  up  with  an 
exclamation.  "It  sez  here  that  Sam  Hemsted 
is  a-goin'  ter  build  his  store  up  higher.  Won- 
der how  much  higher  ? " 

"Dunno,"  said  someone.  "But  I'll  bet 
't  won't  be  any  higher  than  the  mortgage." 

"Wa'al,  boys,"  continued  Pop,  "what  dj 
think  ?  Did  any  o'  ye  read  this  'bout  Silas 
Weaver  losin'  that  bay  mare  o'  hisn  ?  Too 
bad,  too  bad,  I  tell  ye.  Wa'al  bred  mare,  ye 
know.  Had  a  ped-igree  longer  'n  from  here 
ter  the  bridge." 

"What  did  she  die  of?"  asked  one  of  the 
listeners. 

"Why,  it  sez  here  that  she  had  sort  of  a 
sinkin'  spell.  Kind  o'  laid  down  like,  and 
before  Silas  could  git  her  up  —  wa'al,  why 
she  jest  died,  that 's  all." 

"Ef  Silas  could  n't  git  her  up,  I  '11  swear 


56  OLD  JIM  CASE 

there  could  n't  nobody,"  said  Old  Jim,  looking 
over  his  glasses.  "No,  sir,  nobody." 

"Wa'al,"  came  a  voice  from  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  "I  want  ter  say  this  ter  ye,  Jim 
Case,  I  know  that  he  thought  so  much  o'  that 
'ere  hoss  that  he  would  n't  drive  her,  that 's 
what.  Jest  kind  o'  pensioned  her,  as  it  were." 

Old  Jim  crumpled  up  his  paper  and  shoved 
it  back  behind  his  chair.  "Wa'al,  sir,  let  me 
tell  ye  somethin'.  Ye  know  the  reason  why 
he  did  n't  drive  that  hoss  ?  Wa'al,  't  wuz 
'cause  he  could  n't." 

"Could  n't  drive  her,"  exclaimed  three  or 
four  at  the  same  time,  as  Pop  leaned  over  the 
desk  and  asked,  "What  d'ye  mean,  Jim? 
Why,  Silas  Weaver  told  me  'imself  one  day 
last  summer  when  I  wuz  out  ter  his  farm  that 
there  wuz  a  bay  mare  that  he  did  n't  think 
he  'd  ever  part  with." 

"Never  did,  did  he,  till  she  dropped  dead  ?" 
replied  Old  Jim,  slapping  his  old  slouch  hat 
first  against  one  knee  and  then  the  other. 
After  a  second's  pause,  he  added,  "Could  n't 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  57 

'a '  parted  with  her  without  the  aid  of  a  hoss 
pistol." 

"How  be  it  that  you  seem  ter  know  so  much 
'bout  this  particular  bay  mare  ? "  inquired  Pop, 
as  he  looked  at  Old  Jim  with  an  air  of  doubt. 

"  How  be  it  ?  Wa'al,  sir,  I  '11  tell  ye.  It 's 
'cause  I  owned  that  particular  bay  mare  once 
myself;  that 's  how." 

"T'u  owned  Silas  Weaver's  bay  mare," 
rang  out  nearly  every  voice  in  the  room. 
The  few  who  had  not  fully  followed  the  run  of 
talk,  now  put  down  their  papers. 

"Yes,"  replied  Old  Jim,  with  half  a  smile, 
"I  owned  her;  owned  her  fer  'bout  an  hour, 
but  't  wuz  long  enough  ter  find  out  all  her 
points.  I  were  n't  so  particular  at  the  time 
'bout  her  ped-igree.  I  could  tell  without 
a-askin'  that  she  wuz  well  bred  by  the  way  her 
coat  shined,  and  so  long  as  I  wuz  tradin'  bosses 
I  did  n't  think  't  wuz  necessary  ter  remind 
Silas  as  ter  what  might  be  her  good  points." 

Jim  looked  around  the  room  and,  taking  out 
a  package  of  tobacco  from  his  coat  pocket, 


58  OLD  JIM  CASE 

poked  his  fingers  inside  and  pulled  out  a 
reasonable  portion  of  scrap.  Then  be  passed 
the  package  to  one  of  the  listeners,  who,  at 
first  sight  of  it,  had  held  out  his  hand. 
"Wa'al,"  said  Jim,  "  seein'  ye  've  all  put  down 
yer  papers,  guess  I  might  as  well  go  ahead  and 
tell  ye  about  it." 

He  shifted  his  quid  and  stroked  his  mous- 
tache. '  Ye  all  know  how  I  used  ter  take  one 
er  two  helpers  and  start  out  through  the  coun- 
try with  a  string  o'  'bout  twenty  er  thirty 
hosses,  old  plugs,  skates,  er  whatever  ye  might 
call  'em  ? "  he  began.  "  Wa'al,  ye  know  we  were 
always  ready  ter  sell,  trade,  er  make  some  kind 
o'  a  deal  with  any  farmer  who  'd  be  a-lookin' 
fer  what  might  appear  ter  be  a  real  bargain. 

"I  remember  one  time  I  wuz  a-drivin*  a 
particular  good  lookin'  hoss  that  appeared  ter 
be  somewhat  of  a  trotter,  and  a  bystander 
who  'd  ben  a-watchin'  his  movements  finally 
stepped  up  ter  me,  and,  seemin'  ter  know  who 
I  wuz,  sez,  'Jim,  jest  'bout  how  fast  kin  that 
hoss  trot?' 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  59 

"'Oh,  I  dunno,'  sez  I.  *I  take  'im  out  and 
drive  'im  like  hell  fer  'bout  three  minutes  and 
call  it  a  mile.'" 

Old  Pop  chuckled  appreciatively  at  this. 
"Wa'al,  boys,"  he  asked,  "how  Js  that  fer 
makin'  a  record  ? " 

"Wa'al,  ye  know,"  continued  Jim,  "it  got 
so  I  commenced  ter  think  that  when  it  come 
ter  tradin'  hosses  I  wuz  jest  about  as  smooth 
as  the  next  man,  havin'  on  that  particular  trip 
disposed  o'  all  I  had  but  four  or  five,  and  all 
o'  'urn  at  good  profits. 

"  'T  wuz  long  'bout  noon  time,  this  particular 
day  that  I  'm  a-tellin'  'bout,  when  we 
happened  ter  overtake  a  farmer  who  wuz 
a-crossin'  the  road  jest  ahead.  He  wuz 
a-carryin'  a  pail  in  each  hand,  but  when  he 
saw  us  a-comin'  he  stopped,  put  down  his 
pails,  pushed  back  his  broad-brimmed  hat, 
and  jest  stared  at  me  with  his  mouth  wide 
open. 

"'Kin  ye  tell  us  the  main  road  that  leads 
over  ter  Plainville  ?'  sez  I. 


60  OLD  JIM  CASE 

"He  put  one  hand  'longside  o'  his  ear 
and  jest  said,  'Huh?' 

"I  repeated  my  question,  this  time  a-leanin* 
over  until  I  nearly  fell  off  the  hoss,  and 
hollerin'  good  and  loud. 

"'Oh/  sez  he,  pointin'  up  the  road,  'ye  go 
straight  ter  the  top  o'  that  hill  'til  ye  come  ter 
God's  barn,  and  then/  said  he,  pointin'  his 
finger  up  the  road,  'then  ye  take  the  furst  turn 
ter  the  left.' 

"'God's  barn/  sez  L  'What  in  thunder 
d'ye  mean  by  that  ?' 

'"Wa'al/  sez  he,  'ye  see  that  red  barn  on 
the  hill  yonder  ?  A  while  ago  they  had  a  fire 
up  there,  and  as  the  wind  wuz  a-blowin'  a 
regular  gale,  everythin'  burned  down  'ceptin' 
that  barn,  and  since  then/  sez  he,  with  a  sort 
o'  grin,  'everybody  'round  here  has  always 
called  it  God's  barn.' 

"At  this  he  picked  up  his  pails,  kicked  the 
gate  open  with  his  foot,  and  went  on  whistlin' 
inter  the  yard. 

"When  I  reached  the  top  o'  the  hill  I 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  61 

happened  ter  look  up  and  see  an  old  feller 
on  the  top  o'  the  red  barn,  busy  a-shinglin'  the 
roof.  I  stopped  and  called  out  ter  'im,  askin* 
whether  there  'd  be  any  objections  ef  we 
turned  our  hosses  inter  the  next  lot  while 
we  eat  our  dinners. 

"The  man  on  the  barn  did  n't  stop  a-ham- 
merin',  but  a  leetle  weazened  voice  came  back  in 
good-natured  tones  and  said  we  could.  Wa'al, 
when  I  heared  that  voice  I  knowed  't  wuz  old 
Silas  Weaver;  could  'a'  told  it  a  mile  off." 

"Yes,  anybody  'd  know  Weaver's  voice 
that  'd  ever  heared  it  once,"  said  Pop.  "  But 
go  ahead." 

"Wa'al,  after  we  'd  driven  the  hosses  inside 
the  gate,  as  usual  I  began  a-lookin'  'round  and 
my  eye  fell  upon  a  mighty  likely  lookin'  bay 
mare  a-feedin'  over  in  the  next  lot.  I  watched 
her  a  bit,  and  then  walked  around  sort  o' 
indifferent  like.  Before  I  knowed  it,  I  wuz 
over  beside  the  old  red  barn,  a-standin'  at  the 
foot  o'  the  ladder.  The  next  minute  I  raised 
my  head  and  called  up  to  Silas,  a-sayin', 


62  OLD  JIM  CASE 

'Don't  s'pose  ye  ever  trade  bosses,  d'ye?' 
The  old  feller  's  hammer  fell  ter  the  roof  with 
a  bang.  Why,  he  did  n't  even  wait  ter  reply, 
but  jest  come  down  that  'ere  ladder  two  rounds 
at  a  time.  When  he  struck  the  ground  he 
turned  toward  me,  emptyin'  the  nails  out  o* 
his  mouth  inter  the  palm  o'  his  hand,  and 
a-sayin',  'Why,  Jim,  I  've  ben  known  ter  do 
sech  a  thing.  What 's  yer  proposition  ? '  he 
added,  lookin'  me  over. 

"'I  s'pose  that  bay  mare  over  in  the  lot 
there  is  yourn  ? ' 

"'She  's  all  mine,  I  reckon,'  sez  he,  kind  o* 
stubborn  like. 

'"Wa'al,  I'll  trade  ye  that  gray,'  sez  I, 
a-pointin'  over  in  the  next  lot,  'and  I  '11  give 
ye  this  ter  boot.'  I  held  out  a  gold  watch.  He 
took  it  in  his  hand  furst  a-puttin'  it  up  ter  his 
ear  and  then  a-turnin'  it  over  back  and  forth 
a  couple  o'  times;  after  that  he  flopped  it  inter 
his  pocket  and  started  up  the  ladder  again, 
a-sayin',  'Wa'al,  sir,  ye  've  made  a  deal; 
take  her,  she  's  yourn/ 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  63 

"When  he  reached  the  roof  he  commenced 
a-hammerin'  away,  and  I  walked  back  and 
told  the  boys  how  I  'd  made  the  best  hoss 
trade  o'  the  season.  '  Don't  find  an  easy  mark 
like  that  once  in  ten  years/  sez  I,  as  we  started 
on  our  way  after  dinner,  I  a-leadin'  the  new 
bay  mare.  Wa'al,  sir,  we  'd  a-gone  probably 
a  couple  o'  hundred  feet  er  so  when  this  likely 
lookin'  bay  mare  came  ter  a  halt.  She 
would  n't  back  up  nor  she  would  n't  go  ahead, 
and  the  next  minute  she  commenced  ter 
wabble  back  and  forth,  and  finally  I  '11  be 
blamed  ef  she  did  n't  go  down  in  a  heap. 
Wa'al,  we  'd  no  sooner  get  her  up  than  down 
she  'd  go  again,  and  at  last  I  had  ter  give  it 
up.  I  wiped  the  beads  o'  perspiration  off 
my  brow  and  trudged  along  back  up  the  dusty 
road  until  I  turned  inter  the  lot  where  Silas 
Weaver  wuz  still  a-hammerin'  away  on  the 
barn  roof. 

"'That  bay  mare  is  down  and  out  and  we 
can't  git  her  up,'  I  called  out.  'Come  over 
here  ter  see  how  ye  'd  trade  back/ 


64  OLD  JIM  CASE 

"Old  Silas  looked  down  and  sez,  sort  o* 
unconcerned,  'I  kin  git  her  up  all  right.  Ef 
ye  want  ter  trade  back,  why  I  '11  keep  the  bay 
mare  and  the  gold  watch  and  ye  kin  go  over 
and  git  yer  gray/  As  I  turned  ter  go,  he  sez, 
'  I  tell  ye  I  'd  hate  ter  lose  that  bay  mare, 
'cause  ye  see  I  've  traded  her  nine  er  ten  times, 
and,  honest  Injin,  ye  fellers  got  her  further 
than  anybody  else  ever  got  her  before/' 

"Guess  old  Silas  Weaver  kind  o'  got  the 
hook  inter  Jim  that  time,  did  n't  he  ?"  said  a 
voice  from  the  corner  of  the  room. 

Pop  slapped  his  hands  down  on  the  desk 
and  laughed.  "I  guess  that  wuz  one  on  y'u, 
Jim,"  he  said  gleefully. 

"There  's  jest  a  leetle  more  ter  this  story," 
insisted  Old  Jim.  "Ye  see,  'bout  six  weeks 
after  that  I  happened  ter  go  ter  the  city,  and 
hearin'  there  wuz  goin*  ter  be  a  hoss  sale,  I 
hurried  up  with  my  errands  and  got  over  there 
jest  as  they  were  auctionin'  off  a  hoss  and 
buggy,  and  I  want  ter  tell  ye  't  wuz  'bout  the 
raciest  lookin'  outfit  that  I  ever  laid  my  eyes 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  65 

on,  and  the  furst  thing  that  I  knew  I  wuz 
a-biddin'  fer  it  like  a  drunken  sailor. 

"Wa'al,  I  bought  the  hull  darned  shootin' 
match  fer  three  hundred  and  twenty-five 
dollars,  and  got  right  in  and  drove  hum. 

"Wa'al,  jest  as  I  wuz  a-comin'  up  the  road 
towards  the  hut-tel,  Silas  Weaver  wuz  a-sittin' 
out  there,  tipped  back  in  his  chair,  and  when  he 
saw  me  a-movin'  along  at  a  pretty  good  clip 
and  the  sun  a-shinin'  against  them  fresh 
painted,  red  wheels,  he  got  right  up  outer  his 
chair  and  stood  a-leanin'  against  the  post, 
sort  o'  cranin'  his  neck.  Gee  whiz!  how  that 
brass  trimmed  harness  did  glitter. 

"'What  ye  ben  a-gittin'  ?'  sez  he,  as  I  pulled 
up  in  front  o'  the  steps. 

"'Ben  over  ter  the  city,'  sez  I,  'and  when 
my  eyes  lit  on  this  'ere  turnout  I  jest  could  n't 
walk  away.' 

"'Ef  ye  got  the  time/  sez  he,  'I  '11  let  ye 
take  me  'round  the  circle;  kinder  like  the 
looks  o'  that  hoss.' 

"  I  leaned  over  and,  takin'  a-hold  o'  his  arm, 


66  OLD  JIM  CASE 

helped  him  inter  the  seat.  I  only  had  ter  give 
a  leetle  slack  ter  the  lines  and  that  hoss  stepped 
off  at  a  pace  that  surprised  me  'bout  as  much 
as  it  did  Silas.  Pretendin'  not  ter  notice  the 
hoss,  he  finally  sez,  'Don't  like  them  red 
wheels;  looks  too  much  like  a  circus.' 

'"I  hain't  a-tryin'  ter  sell  it  ter  ye/  sez  I, 
kinder  independent-like.  'Ye 're  a-ridin*  on 
yer  own  invitation.' 

"'I  know  't  I  be/  sez  he,  'and  I  want  ter 
say  that  I  ain't  ashamed  neither.  What  M 
ye  have  ter  cough  up ;  mind  tellin'  ? ' 

"'Don't  mind  tellin'  you.'  As  I  said  this  it 
occurred  ter  me  that  right  here  wuz  my  chance 
ter  tack  on  a  fair  profit,  fer  I  could  see  where  I 
might  git  a  bite.  I  began  my  tactics  by 
talkin'  ter  the  hoss,  a-sayin'  'Whoa,  boy! 
Steady  now!  Careful  there!'  at  the  same  time 
a-tryin'  ter  think  how  big  a  price  he  'd  believe. 
At  last  the  hoss  settled  back  inter  an  easy  trot, 
and  as  I  leaned  forward  ter  put  the  whip  back 
in  the  socket,  I  said,  'Why,  I  only  give  four 
hundred  dollars  fer  the  hull  business.' 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  67 

"He  loosened  his  hat-band,  which  had  ben 
pulled  down  tight  behind  his  ears,  and  sez, 
'four  hundred  dollars,  hey.' 

'"Yep/  sez  I,  'ter  be  honest  with  ye,  Silas, 
I  don't  need  another  hoss  and  wagon,  but  ye 
know  I  jest  got  enough  hoss  blood  in  my  veins 
ter  make  me  itch  all  over  when  I  see  one  that 
suits.' 

"  By  this  time  we  were  back  and  had  pulled 
up  in  front  o'  the  tavern,  and  when  he  stepped 
out  he  walked  'round  in  front  o'  the  hoss,  once 
more  sizin'  up  the  hull  appearance.  Then  he 
glanced  back  at  me  and  sez,  'As  ye  say,  ye 
don't  need  another  hoss  and  buggy  any 
more  'n  a  cat  needs  six  tails,  and  while  I  hain't 
ben  a-advertisin'  it  'round,  I  don't  know  but 
I  'd  do  business  myself,  providin'  I  'd  come 
across  jest  what  I  wanted." 

"'Don't  know  nobody  'round  here  what  *s 
got  anythin'  ter  show  ye,'  sez  I,  sort  o'  leadin* 
away,  as  it  were. 

1 '  Don't,  hey  ? '  sez  he,  a-walkin'  'round  on 
the  other  side.  'Nice,  shiny  coat.'  He 


68  OLD  JIM  CASE 

rubbed  his  hand  over  the  hoss's  back,  and  sez, 
'  Don't  know  but  what  I  'd  be  willin'  ter  give 
ye  what  ye  paid  and  buy  the  cigars  ter  boot/ 

"'Yes,  I  guess  so;  don't  s'pose  my  time  's 
worth  as  much  as  a  settin'  hen,'  sez  I,  as  I 
drove  on  hum,  and  he  went  back  and  sat  down 
on  the  piazza.. 

"Wa'al,  boys,  d'ye  know  when  I  took  the 
harness  off  o'  that  blamed  hoss  he  commenced 
ter  kick  and  rear  and  jump,  and  the  very  devil 
himself  could  n't  git  him  inter  the  stall.  I  'd 
heared  'bout  them  critters  before,  and  I  com- 
menced ter  understand  how  't  wuz  that  they 
wanted  ter  sell  him  all  hitched  ter  the  wagon 
ready  ter  be  driven  away,  and  the  further  the 
better. 

"'  Wa'al/  sez  I  ter  myself,  as  I  stood  there 
a-holdin'  the  harness,  'Jim  Case,  ye  're  gettin' 
easier  pickin'  every  day.'  Then  I  jumped 
ter  one  side  jest  in  time  ter  dodge  the  left  hind 
leg  and  ter  see  him  leave  a  perfect  imprint  o' 
his  shoe  in  the  side  o'  the  barn  wall.  It 's 
there  yet,  Pop,  and  every  time  I  see  it,  a  cold 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  69 

chill  runs  up  and  down  my  back.  'Whoa 
there!'  I  yells  out  ter  the  beast.  'What  d'ye 
think  I  am?  A  punchin'  bag?'  He  said 
'Biff!'  with  his  heels,  and  sent  a  wooden  pail 
right  through  the  winder. 

"Wa'al,  after  a  while  I  managed  ter  git  the 
harness  back  on,  and  after  that  he  wuz  as  mild 
as  a  Maltese  kitten.  I  got  in  and  drove  out  as 
if  nothin'  had  happened.  As  I  come  along 
by  the  tavern  here,  there  wuz  Old  Weaver.  He 
waved  his  hand  as  I  expected  he  would, 
and  I  swung  'round  and  drew  up  ter  the  curb. 

'"Hain't  changed  yer  mind,  have  ye?'  sez 
he,  lookin'  kinder  serious  like. 

"'Not  exactly,'  sez  I,  'but  as  I've  ben 
a-thinkin'  it  over,  y'u  and  me  have  ben  good 
friends  fer  more  'n  twenty  years  and  I  don't 
want  ter  have  anythin'  come  between  us  now. 
It  sort  o'  seems  ter  me  that,  seein'  ye  know  I 
don't  really  need  this  outfit,  you  might  always 
have  a  kind  o'  feelin'  agin  me  if  I  don't  sell  it 
ter  ye,  and  I  would  n't  have  our  friendship 
interfered  with  fer  a  train  load  o'  bosses.  So 


70  OLD  JIM  CASE 

as  I  say,  after  thinkin'  it  all  over,  I  've  made 
up  my  mind,  as  seein'  it 's  you,  ter  let  ye  have 
the  hull  thing  jest  as  it  stands  fer  four 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars.  Seems  as 
though,  under  the  circumstances,  ye  'd  orter 
be  willin'  ter  let  me  have  twenty-five  dollars  fer 
my  time.' 

"'Huh!'  he  whinnered  out  with  that  husky 
voice  of  hisn.  '  Twenty-five  dollars  fer  a  day 
o'  your  time ;  I  guess  not ! '  /  wuz  jest  a-think- 
in'  ter  myself  how  I  'd  have  ter  make  it 
four  hundred  dollars  and  be  satisfied  with 
seventy-five  dollars  profit,  and  lucky  to  get 
rid  o'  that  hoss  at  any  price,  when  he  up  and 
sez,  '  I  '11  tell  ye  what  I  '11  do.  I  '11  jest  give 
ye  four  hundred  and  ten  dollars  spot  cash, 
and  ye  kin  drive  me  over  ter  Salmon's  bank  and 
I  '11  git  y'u  the  money.' 

"When  he  said  this,  I  cramped  the  wheel 
about  as  quick  as  he  dropped  the  hammer 
that  day  on  the  barn  roof,  and  helped  him  ter 
get  in,  and  we  drove  over  ter  the  bank  at  an 
awful  clip.  Old  Weaver  counted  over  the  four 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  71 

hundred  and  ten  dollars,  and  I  handed  him 
the  ribbons.  He  left  me  and  the  money  at 
my  house  and  drove  on  hum. 

"A  few  days  after  that  I  met  him  over  in 
Cal's  store.  I  wuz  a-sittin'  on  the  counter, 
openin*  and  shuttin'  my  knife,  when  he 
dropped  in  ter  do  some  tradin.'  Before  he 
knowed  it,  he  wuz  a-standin'  right  in  front  o' 
me.  'Oh!'  sez  he,  'Jim  Case,  hey?'  Then 
he  drew  back  and  cracked  his  whip  until  it 
sounded  like  a  giant  fire-cracker. 

"I  never  moved  a  muscle.  'Orter  wind 
that  'ere  lash  'round  yer  blame  hide,  that 's 
what!'  sez  he,  and  the  fire  seemed  ter  stream 
out  o'  his  eyes  like  a  searchlight.  '  So  ye  're 
the  man,  be  ye,  who  thinks  such  a  hell  of  a  lot 
o'  my  friendship  ?'  He  even  took  the  liberty 
o'  snappin'  his  fingers  within  a  few  inches  o' 
my  nose.  Would  n't  part  with  it  fer  a  train 
load  o'  hosses,  would  ye  ?'  The  old  man's 
lips  fairly  trembled,  he  wuz  so  mad,  and, 
when  he  caught  his  breath,  he  went  on, 
'Ye  think  I  bought  that  horse  ter  use 


72  OLD  JIM  CASE 

as  a  hay  tedder?  Why/  sez  he,  'as  soon 
as  I  got  hum  and  took  the  harness  off,  he 
commenced  and  kicked  everythin'  in  the 
barn  ter  pieces,  'ceptin'  the  mowin'  machine, 
and  when  he  come  ter  that,  he  broke 
his  leg,  and  I  had  ter  shoot  him/  He 
stopped  short,  and,  holdin'  up  his  fist  in 
my  direction,  he  sez,  'Jim  Case,  ye  're 
nothin'  but  a  plain  robber,  fer  I  did  n't 
have  that  hoss  more  'n  three  hours  after 
payin'  y'u  that  money.' 

"Thinkin'  things  had  gone  far  enough,  I 
slid  down  off  the  counter  and  walked  up  to 
where  he  stood,  until  our  noses  nearly 
touched.  'Mr  Weaver,'  sez  I,  'guess  ye  're  so 
blamed  mad  that  ye  've  forgotten  somcthin*. 
Seems  ter  me  as  though  I  did  n't  own 
that  bay  mare  o'  yourn  more  'n  an  hour, 
and  if  ye  '11  look  there  in  yer  pocket  at 
my  gold  watch  that  ye  're  a-carryin', 
p'rhaps  ye  '11  find  it  's  time  ter  be  a-goin', 
'cause  ye  hain't  got  much  of  an  excuse 
ter  be  'round  a-squealin'  'bout  a  hoss  deal 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  73 

when  ye  kep'  one  on  hand  yerself  jest  ter 
cheat  folks  with/ 

"Wa'al,  he  went  out  and  slammed  the  door 
behind  him,  and,  boys,  he  hain't  spoken  ter 
me  from  that  day  ter  this.  Don't  know  as  I 
care  so  much,"  said  Old  Jim,  as  he  folded  up 
his  paper  and  shoved  it  into  his  pocket,  "only 
I  may  Ve  lost  another  chance  fer  a  hoss  trade, 
that 's  all." 

While  Jim  had  been  spinning  this  yarn, 
Winnie  Fowler,  who  sat  next  to  him,  had  slid 
down  so  that  his  coat  collar  was  even  with 
the  back  of  the  chair,  with  both  feet  braced 
against  the  top  round,  his  knees  almost  on  the 
level  with  his  head,  his  long  arms  reaching 
out  between.  In  his  little  dried-up  hands  he 
held  a  copy  of  the  Gazette,  apparently  much 
interested  in  the  news. 

"Gettin*  posted,  Winnie?"  said  Jim, 
nodding  at  the  boys  and  beckoning  his  thumb 
at  the  shrivelled  old  man,  whose  lips  were 
keeping  time  with  his  eyes  as  they  followed 
back  and  forth  across  the  lines.  "Seems  ter 


74  OLD  JIM  CASE 

me,"  went  on  Jim,  with  a  grin,  "as  though 
ye  'd  played  that  bluff  about  long  enough;  ye 
hain't  a-foolin'  anybody,  'cause  they  've  all 
knowed  fer  twenty  years  er  more  how  't  ye 
could  n't  read  ner  write." 

"Can't,  hey?"  replied  Fowler,  folding  his 
specks  and  hurriedly  putting  them  into  a 
shiny  case  before  anybody  could  ask  him  to 
read  something. 

Old  Jim  continued.  "  D'  ye  think  folks  have 
forgotten  'bout  the  time  ye  sat  right  here  in 
this  very  room  pretendin'  ter  be  a-readin'  the 
newspaper  and  ye  had  it  upside  down  all  the 
time  ?  Why,  everybody  in  the  village  knows 
about  that." 

Old  Fowler  made  no  reply,  but  looked  down, 
tapping  the  heel  of  his  boot  with  his  cane,  as 
Jim  went  on,  "Ye  remember  sittin'  there 
a-lookin'  at  that  picture  o'  the  ship  upside 
down,  furst  a-lookin'  with  one  eye  and  then 
with  t'  other,  until  finally  I  asked  y'u  if  there 
wuz  any  news,  and  y'u  looked  up  and  sez 
'Terrible  wreck  at  sea.'  Ye  remember  that, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  75 

don't  ye?  And  then  somebody  told  y'u  if 
you  'd  turn  the  paper  right  side  up  you  'd 
save  a  lot  o'  lives." 

Old  Fowler  finally  looked  up  at  Jim.  Wa'al 
don't  know  as  y'u  got  so  much  ter  brag  about; 
never  heard  o'  y'u  a-teachin'  school  any- 
where." The  weazened  little  man's  voice 
quavered  and  Jim  realised  then  that  his 
feelings  were  wounded,  so  he  arose  and 
patted  old  man  Fowler  affectionately  on  his 
back. 

"Course,  Jim,"  the  old  man  said,  as  he  got 
up  with  the  aid  of  his  hickory  stick,  "I  never 
claimed  that  I  could  read  any  length  o'  time, 
but  fer  a  leetle  while,  I  tell  ye,  I  kin  read; 
honest,  I  kin,  Jim,  fer  a  leetle  while." 

"Never  mind,  Winnie;  don't  ye  get  mad. 
What  ef  ye  can't  read  ?  There  are  plenty  of 
us  here  that  are  always  glad  ter  read  ta  ye. 
'T  war  n't  your  fault  'cause  ye  had  ter  work 
when  ye  orter  ben  a-goin'  ter  school,  and  now 
that  ye  're  old  and  bent-over,  ye  need  n't  be 
ashamed  o'  what  ye  don't  know  'bout  books, 


76  OLD  JIM  CASE 

'cause  we  all  know  yer  heart's  in  the  right  place 
and  that 's  enough." 

Old  man  Fowler,  who  had  passed  his 
eightieth  mile-stone,  slowly  sipped  away  at 
a  glass  of  ale.  His  cane  was  hooked  on  his 
arm  at  the  elbow  and  one  foot  rested  on  the 
iron  railing;  his  nose  was  thin  and  peaked, 
and  his  face  wrinkled  and  freckled.  He  wore 
a  derby  hat,  much  too  large,  shoved  down 
behind  his  ears,  and  every  time  he  smiled  his 
drawn  mouth  sank  back  in  from  his  prominent 
cheek  bones.  As  he  reached  over  and  picked 
up  a  piece  of  cheese  from  the  plate  that  Pop 
had  just  set  out  on  the  end  of  the  bar,  he 
turned  and  said  to  Jim,  "Seem'  as  ye  've  ben 
chaffin'  me,  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  git  back  at  ye  by 
a-tellin'  one  on  you  —  one  that  goes  back 
many  moons,  as  the  Indians  'ud  say.  Any- 
way, 't  wuz  before  ye  swore  off  drinkin'  that 
'Squirrel  Whiskey,'  as  ye  used  ter  call  it.  As 
I  recollect,  boys,  't  wuz  when  county  politics 
were  a-runnin'  mighty  warm,  and  us  Republi- 
cans 'round  here  were  a-tryin'  ter  put  up  a 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  77 

good,  stiff  fight.  Frank  Dunbar,  the  hermit, 
had  the  handlin'  o'  the  campaign  funds  them 
days  and  it  seems  that  he  sent  fer  Jim  Case, 
a-tellin'  him  ter  go  over  ter  the  Town  o' 
Spafford,  and  a-givin'  him  sixty-five  dollars 
ter  spend  there  electioneerin'.  Wa'al,  I 
happened  in  here  ter  the  hut-tel  the  day  after, 
and,  seem'  Jim,  course  I  asked  him  how  he 
thought  things  were  agoin'  in  the  Town  o* 
Spafford.  'Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  Spaf- 
ford,' sez  he,  between  hiccoughs  and  sort  o* 
bracin'  himself  with  one  hand  against  the 
desk,  'but  I  kin  tell  ye  right  now  that  Central 
Square  iz  all  right." 

Here  all  the  crowd  burst  into  laughter, 
and  as  the  old  man  took  his  last  swallow  and 
placed  his  glass  back  on  the  bar,  he  added, 
tapping  Jim  on  the  leg  with  his  cane,  "Ye 
darn  cuss,  ye  spent  all  that  money  in  Central 
Square,  Oswego  County,  across  the  line,  where 
't  wuz  out  of  our  district,  and  we  got  snowed 
under  over  in  the  Town  o'  Spafford.  How  's 
that,  boys  ?  P'rhaps  ef  Jim  Case  'd  look  back 


78  OLD  JIM  CASE 

he  could  remember  a-seein*  a  ship  upside 
down,  er  a  couple  o'  moons  and  a  plaid  rat  er 
two  himself." 

"  Wa'al,"  said  Jim,  stroking  his  moustache, 
"I  guess  we  'd  better  call  it  even,  Winnie. 
You  and  me  are  always  a  scrappin'  'bout  some- 
thin*.  Ef  Jt  ain't  one  thing  it 's  another. 
That  Js  how  the  boys  get  on  ter  all  our  secrets 
and  know  all  about  our  business.  O'  course, 
we  hain't  done  nothin'  ter  be  ashamed  of. 
Ef  we  had,  we  'd  have  ter  do  our  talkin*  ter 
each  other  out  in  the  centre  of  a  ten  acre  lot." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  LIGHTNING-ROD  AGENT  HEARS  OLD 
JIM'S  STORIES 

IF  there  had  been  no  thunder  storm  with 
its  accompanying  rain  and  mud,  the 
lightning-rod  agent  would  have  passed  South 
Hollow  by  on  the  other  side  and  wended  his 
way  onward  to  localities  more  promising  for 
the  sale  of  his  doubtful  wares;  but  a  storm 
there  was,  and  Old  Bennett  and  his  stage, 
finding  the  mire  and  the  freshets  more 
than  they  wished  to  cope  with,  abandoned 
their  trip  to  the  city,  and  the  vender  of 
wondrous  rods  could  do  naught  but  stay  over 
night. 

It  was,  of  course,  inevitable  that  he  should 
wander  finally  into  the  general  store,  which 
his  keen  instincts  promptly  told  him  was  the 
liveliest  place  in  town.  By  setting  up  the 

79 


8o  OLD  JIM  CASE 

cigars  and  joining  at  once  in  the  conversation, 
he  introduced  himself  to  the  boys. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  light  check  suit  and 
wore  a  little  brown  derby  hat.  Incessantly 
he  alternated  a  pull  at  his  slight  tow-coloured 
moustache  with  a  puff  from  his  cigarette. 

"I  suppose  you  have  a  hose  company?"  he 
said,  as  he  carefully  dusted  off  the  bottom  of  a 
chair  with  a  pink  bordered  handkerchief  and 
took  his  seat.  * '  Every  lively,  up-to-date  village 
like  South  Hollow  has  a  hose  company." 

"Wa'al,  ye  kin  jest  bet  we  have,"  said  Old 
Jim.  "An*  what  's  more,  we  've  got  them 
patent  fire  alarm  boxes  same  as  they  Ve  got  in 
the  city.  We  had  a  deuce  of  a  time  gettin' 
'em,  though.  Ye  see  this  town  is  jest  the  same 
as  all  the  rest  —  pollyticians  fightin'  each  other 
all  the  time.  There  wuz  one  side  that  wanted 
fire  alarm  boxes,  and  while  they  admitted  it 
might  cost  a  leetle  more  at  furst,  they  allowed 
we  Jd  be  fixed  fer  all  time  ter  come,  and  't 
we  might  jest  as  well  put  'em  in  furst  as  last. 
T'  other  side  allowed  't  would  make  taxes  too 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  81 

high,  arguin'  that  what  wuz  good  enough  fer 
our  fathers  ought  ter  be  good  enough  fer  us, 
and  that  we  'd  orter  be  satisfied."  He  paused 
long  enough  to  open  the  door  and  let  in  his 
dog  which  had  been  whining  outside.  After 
Nero  had  curled  himself  up  comfortably 
beside  the  stove,  Old  Jim  resumed  his 
discourse. 

"Wa'al,  Election  Day  come  along  with  fire 
boxes  the  issue,  and  it  seemed  the  majority 
wuz  strong  fer  fire  boxes,  so  up  they  went,  and 
now  'bout  every  so  often  you  '11  see  a  beautiful 
red  box  with  in-struction  stamped  on  the 
front:  In  case  of  fire  break  the  glass  and  turn 
the  little  handle  to  the  right.  Wa'al,  sir,  ye 
know  the  fire  bell  had  n't  rung  in  South 
Hollow  fer  'bout  three  years  until  we  got  them 
red  fire  alarm  boxes,  and  then,  by  Jimminy, 
the  trouble  commenced.  Why,  the  fire  bell  '11 
ring  sometimes  twice  in  one  night.  Course, 
it 's  always  false  alarm.  Ye  see,  the  boys, 
wantin'  somethin'  fer  excitement,  '11  go  up  ter 
one  o'  them  red  fire  alarm  boxes  and  call  out 


82  OLD  JIM  CASE 

the  department.  It  "s  got  so  now  that  when 
they  hear  the  fire  bell  ring,  the  Quick  Step 
Hose  Company  jest  laugh;  havin  ben  fooled 
so  often,  there  ain't  none  of  'em  what  '11  go. 
So  if  we  ever  do  have  a  real  fire,  probabilities 
be  the  hull  darn  town  '11  burn  up  before  we  kin 
git  the  volunteer  firemen  ter  believe  somethin  *s 
really  burnin'." 

The  dapper  agent  seemed  greatly  amused 
at  Jim's  narrative.  He  lighted  another 
cigarette  and  leaned  over  to  pet  the  dog  and 
read  the  name  on  the  collar. 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Hiram  Wilcox, 
"o'  the  time  when  everybody  wanted  ter  git 
a  new  hand  engine  and  we  had  it  pretty  near 
fixed  ter  get  one,  when  Elder  Armstrong 
preached  a  sermon  a-sayin'  the  town  needed 
furst  o'  all  a  new  clock  in  the  Presperterian 
Church  steeple.  He  told  as  how  the  people 
who  could  n't  afford  a  Waterbury  watch 
might  a-wanter  see  what  time  't  wuz,  and  that 
a  new  fire  engine  would  only  be  protectin'  the 
rich  and  taxin'  the  poor  who  did  n't  have 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  83 

nothin'  ter  lose.  Anyway  he  put  it  so  strong 
that  we  got  licked  on  Election  Day  and  the 
clock  folks  won.  'Twuz  n't  long  after  that 
when  the  Elder's  house  ketched  fire  and  burnt 
right  down  ter  the  ground.  'Bout  everybody 
in  the  village  turned  out  ter  see  the  fire. 
The  Elder  vwuz  all  excited,  a-wringin'  his 
hands  and  cryin',  when  Jim  over  there  came 
a-walkin'  up  ter  him  and  sez,  'Elder,  it 's 
too  bad  'bout  yer  house  gettin*  on  fire,  but 
there  's  one  satisfaction  ye  've  got,  and  it  Js 
this,  ye  kin  look  up  at  that  'ere  clock  in  the 
Pres-per-terian  Church  stee-ple  and  know  jest 
what  time  it  wuz  when  it  burned  down.' 3 

Someone  was  saying  that  soon  after  this 
South  Hollow  finally  got  her  fire  engine  and 
that  the  man  who  got  thanked  for  it  most  of 
all  was  Old  Jim  Case. 

Here  a  little  girl,  swinging  her  yellow  sun- 
bonnet  by  the  strings,  came  in  the  back  door, 
and  with  a  shy  manner,  said,  "Mr.  Hemming- 
way,  my  father  wants  ter  know  if  y'u  want 
him  ter  lend  himself  ter  yer  axe  fer  a  leetle 


84  OLD  JIM  CASE 

while.  He  sez  he  'd  ruther  lend  than 
borrow." 

:'Ye  '11  find  it  behind  the  door  in  the  wood- 
shed, Annie/'  answered  Cal,  with  a  broad 
grin,  and  out  she  went  with  a  skip  and  a  jump. 

The  drummer  again  undertook  to  guide 
the  conversation. 

"How  is  the  fishing  around  here;  any  trout 
in  these  streams?"  he  queried  patronisingly. 

"Ye  'd  better  ask  Jim  Case  there;  he  's 
the  champion  fisherman  o'  these  parts  — 
knows  every  trout  by  name.  Why,  they  say 
he  kin  call  'em  right  up  ter  the  bait.  I  've 
seen  him  bring  Jem  in  here  that  long."  Cal 
stood  up  straight  behind  the  counter  and 
stretched  his  arms  out  to  their  full  length. 

"Gee  whiz!"  said  the  stranger.  "I'd 
stay  around  here  a  month  to  get  one  as  big  as 
that."  He  turned  to  Jim  and  asked  if  they 
could  n't  arrange  a  trip.  "We  'd  have  a 
good  time  and  get  acquainted,"  he  added. 

Old  Jim  sat  motionless,  a  faint  smile  beneath 
his  generous  moustaches.  "Guess  we'd  git 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  85 

acquainted  all  right,"  he  finally  chortled. 
Then  his  expression  changed  and  he  looked 
the  lightning-rod  man  over  from  head  to  foot. 
"My  friend,"  he  said,  "if  ye  want  ter  know 
the  true  character  of  a  man,  go  fishin'  with  him. 
There  's  nothin'  that  '11  tempt  a  selfish  individ- 
ual more  than  a  good  chance  ter  hog  a  trout 
stream.  Nothin'  '11  bring  out  a  man's  real 
qualifications  quicker  than  when  he  hez  jest 
hooked  seventy-five  cents  worth  o'  fishin' 
tackle  inter  the  top  of  a  tall  tree." 

As  the  agent  seemed  genuinely  interested 
in  this  phase  of  fishing,  Jim  went  on. 

"One  hot  summer's  day  I  carried  a  bottle 
of  ginger  ale  'bout  four  miles  until  I  come  ter 
where  I  could  anchor  it  in  a  cool  stream. 
Then  I  hid  a  ham  sandwich  above  it  in  the 
limb  of  a  tree,  and  made  up  my  mind  that  I  'd 
make  fer  that  spot  'bout  noon. 

"  When  I  came  back  fer  'em,  I  wuz  'bout  as 
hungry  as  a  wild  animal  and  ye  kin  imagine 
my  feelin's  when  I  opened  the  paper  and 
found  a  swarm  o'  red  ants  mo-nop-olisin'  my 


86  OLD  JIM  CASE 

only  sandwich.  I  reached  inter  the  spring  fer 
the  bottle  of  ginger  beer  and  placed  it  under 
my  arm;  then  I  started  fer  a  comfortable 
lookin'  stump  that  would  make  a  good  seat. 
I  filled  my  pipe  with  tobaccer  and  felt  in  every 
pocket  fer  a  match.  O'  course,  they  wuz  all 
gone.  This  wuz  such  a  shock  that  the  bottle 
o'  ginger  beer  slipped  out  from  under  my  arm, 
struck  a  stone,  and  broke  inter  a  hundred 
pieces.  A  combination  o'  this  kind,  I  want  yer 
ter  understand,  gives  anybody  a  licence  ter 
invent  words.  But  a  real  fisherman  never 
takes  advantage  o'  such  occasions,  so  I  made 
a  break  fer  a  shady  nook  where  I  could  let 
my  flies  skip  and  dance  over  an  old  log  and 
managed  ta  fergit  all  my  trials  and  tribulations. 
"I  fished  all  the  favourite  spots  comin' 
down  that  stream  and  could  n't  even  attract  a 
chub.  It  bein'  the  Fourth  o'  July,  I  even  went 
so  fur  as  ter  string  my  leader  with  red,  white, 
and  blue  flies,  but  there  did  n't  seem  ter  be  a 
single  patriotic  trout  in  that  stream.  I  had 
ter  come  ter  the  conclusion  that  it  wuz  my 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  87 

unlucky  day,  and  wuz  about  ter  start  fer  hum 
when  all  of  a  sudden  I  went  up  inter  the  air 
like  a  sky-rocket.  I  thought  fer  a  minute 
that  I  'd  stepped  on  a  live  wire,  but  a  second 
look  proved  it  ter  be  only  a  black  snake  'bout 
four  foot  long. 

"My  furst  thought  wuz  ter  draw  my 
revolver,  but  my  hand  shook  so  Jat  I  wuz 
afraid  I  might  shoot  t'other  way  and  hurt 
myself;  so  I  put  my  faith  inter  the  butt  end 
of  my  steel  rod  and  commenced  mowin'  the 
air,  at  the  same  time  advancin'  step  by  step 
toward  the  mad,  hissin'  rep-tile. 

"A  moment  later  and  I  wuz  a  hero.  I 
coiled  the  cold,  clammy  remains  inter  my  fish 
basket,  covered  it  with  grass,  and  made  fer 
this  store.  'T  wuz  only  a  short  walk,  and  when 
I  arrived  here  there  were  all  the  boys  a-settin' 
'round.  As  I  dropped  in  and  swung  my 
basket  ter  one  side,  I  knowed  that  it  would  n't 
be  long  before  Cal  there  would  be  reachin' 
inter  that  basket.  It  wuz  one  o'  his  tricks 
in  them  days.  Sometimes  it  had  been  ruther 


88  OLD  JIM  CASE 

embarrassin'  fer  me  ter  show  up  empty- 
handed,  but  on  this  par-tic-ular  occasion 
Cal  Hemmingway  could  go  jest  as  far  as 
he  liked. 

"  'T  wuz  n't  long  before  Cal  sauntered  around 
ter  the  basket,  and  as  he  lifted  the  cover,  he 
sez, '  Wa'al,  Jim,  what  kind  o'  luck  d'  ye  have 
ta-day  ? '  at  the  same  time  runnin'  his  hand 
down  through  the  grass.  As  he  felt  all  them 
coils,  s'posin'  'em  ter  be  brook  trout,  he  sez, 
'Wa'al,  y'u  certainly  did  fool  'em  to-day,  by 
gosh;  good  sized  ones  too.  I  would  n't  'a* 
be-lieved  there  wuz  ez  many  in  the  hull  darned 
county.'  I  sez,  'They  did  take  a-hold  toler- 
able good.  Take  one  out,  Cal,  and  show 
the  boys/  As  I  sez  this,  all  eyes  were  on  that 
basket,  and  Cal  whipped  out  the  monstrous 
black  snake.  With  a  yell  like  a  savage,  he 
dropped  the  curlin5  body  of  the  repulsive  rep- 
tile and  bolted  fer  the  door.  So  'd  all  the  rest 
of  'um,  leavin'  in  their  trail  a  scatterin'  pile  o' 
tumblin^chairs,  boxes,  and  barrels.  I  sat  right 
here  on  this  very  tea-chest,  jest  bustin'  my 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  89 

sides  a-laughin'  to  think  how  Cal  had  snooped 
inter  my  fish  basket  once  too  often." 

The  lightning-rod  agent  seemed  to  be  having 
the  best  time  of  his  life.  He  pulled  down  his 
vest,  and,  adjusting  his  bow  tie,  explained 
with  feeling:  "I  want  to  tell  you  chaps  that 
this  little  unexpected  visit  is  a  real  treat  to  me, 
and,  upon  my  honour,  I  'd  stay  here  a  week, 
only  I  must  get  back  to  the  factory  and  help 
take  inventory." 

"  Inventory,"  repeated  Old  Jim,  scornfully. 
"Y'u  ought  ter  take  inventory  the  way  Cal 
Hemmingway  does.  The  first  o'  last  January 
he  sez  ter  me,  'Jim,  I  owe  jest  two  hundred 
dollars/  Then,  like  a  soldier,  he  started  at 
the  front  o'  the  store,  and,  takin*  a  pace  er  two, 
he  looked  'round  and  sez,  'There 's  one 
hundred/  Then  he  took  a  couple  o'  long 
strides  more,  and  stoppin'  again,  he  looked  up 
at  the  stock  and  sez,  'There  's  another 
hundred,  and,  by  cracky  Jim,  all  the  rest  is 
CalV" 

Shortly  after  this,  before  the  laughter  at 


90  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Cal  had  died  away,  Henry  Bennings  and  some 
of  his  city  friends  came  stamping  into  the  store, 
just  back  from  a  day's  hunting.  They 
ordered  cigars  in  loud  tones,  and  were  soon 
boisterously  recalling  an  episode  of  their  trip 
up  the  creek.  They  had  encountered,  one  of 
them  said,  the  queerest  sort  of  an  old  man. 

"Why,"  said  Bennings,  "the  old  cuss,  he 
would  n't  move  an  inch  or  speak,  no  matter 
what  we  'd  say  or  do." 

"Yes,"  said  a  tall,  slim  youth,  who  shone 
with  the  glamour  of  "father's  money,"  "we 
fired  a  few  salutes  for  his  benefit  with  our 
shotguns,  but  even  that  would  n't  make  him 
budge.  He  just  sat  there  like'an  old  mummy." 

During  the  course  of  this  conversation,  Jim 
Case  had  been  an  earnest  listener  from  his 
seat  on  the  tea-chest  behind  the  old  stove. 
At  its  close,  however,  he  arose  to  his  full 
height,  straight  as  a  ramrod  to  the  peak  of 
his  flapping  slouch  hat,  and  stepping  forward 
until  he  had  a  fair  and  square  view  of  these 
city  sportsmen  in  the  light  of  the  big  kerosene 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  91 

lamp,  he  carefully  sized  them  up.  Then  he 
spoke  slowly  but  decisively.  "Yes,  boys,  and 
ye  '11  find  that  'old  mummy'  sittin'  right  there 
in  the  same  place  every  day  'bout  the  same 
time;  don't  make  no  difference  what  the 
weather  is,  he  's  there  winter  and  summer. 
Y'u  fellers  would  n't  'a'  thought  when  y'u 
see  him  that  he  wuz  rich,  would  ye  ?  Wa'al, 
sir,  he  had  more  'n  five  thousand  dollars  left 
him  jest  the  same,  but  it 's  mighty  leetle  he 
evere  cared  fer  it.  Ye  see  he  don't  talk  much 
ter  folks;  don't  like  ter  be  'round  where  they 
are.  He  '11  come  ter  that  window  over  yonder 
and  peek  in  furst  ter  see  if  there  are  any 
strangers  inside,  and  if  there  be,  why  he  '11 
turn  away  and  won't  come  in.  Some  folks 
think  he  's  a  leetle  off,  but  that 's  'cause  they 
don't  know  the  story  of  his  life  same  as  I  do." 
The  hunting  party  had  suddenly  become 
curious  regarding  this  queer  old  character 
they  had  met,  and  waited  in  silence  for  Jim 
to  continue.  He,  however,  puffed  away  at 
his  pipe  and  sharpened  his  knife  by  rubbing 


92  OLD  JIM  CASE 

the  blade  back  and  forth  on  the  side  of  his 
boot. 

After  a  long  silence  the  lightning-rod  agent 
said,  "Well,  Mr.  Case,  you  aren't  going  to 
stop  short  like  that,  are  you  ? " 

Another  added,  "  I  '11  stay  here  all  night  to 
hear  a  good  funny  story;  come  on,  Jim,  let 's 
have  it." 

Jim  snapped  the  big  jack-knife  shut  and 
shoved  it  way  down  into  his  pocket. 

"Wa'al,  boys,  I  happen  ter  know  Frank 
Dunbar,  the  old  man  y'u  saw  sittin'  there; 
I  knowed  him  when  he  come  here  forty  years 
ago,  when  he  wuz  a  political  leader  'round  here 
in  the  Hollow  and  handled  all  our  campaign 
funds.  His  father  wuz  a  doctor  and  made  a 
lot  o'  money  in  his  day  and  Frank  wuz  a  great 
help  ter  him  'cause  he  wuz  shrewd  and  wide- 
awake every  minute.  Finally  he  married  a 
mighty  putty  gal  that  lived  over  in  Cardiff. 
They  come  here  ter  South  Hollow  fer  a  time, 
until  Frank  bought  a  farm  on  the  other  side 
o'  the  creek  and  built  a  comfortable  hum. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  93 

"  Wa'al,  't  wuz  n't  a  great  while  before  they 
had  a  leetle  gal  born,  the  puttiest  leetle  thing 
ye  ever  see,  looked  jest  like  her  mother,  great, 
big,  blue  eyes,  and  curly  hair;  and  Frank 
Dunbar  wuz  prosperous,  everythin'  comin*  his 
way;  altogether  they  wuz  about  the  happiest 
couple  in  the  hull  country.  When  they  'd 
want  ter  come  over  here  ter  the  village,  as  it 
wuz  quite  a  long  drive  from  their  place  by  the 
south  road,  they  used  ter  make  a  short  cut  by 
drivin'  across  the  creek  from  the  rear  o'  their 
lot.  This  saved  'em  'bout  two  miles. 

"Wa'al,  one  day  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
when  he  and  his  wife  and  that  leetle  baby  were 
drivin'  hum  from  South  Hollow,  they  found 
the  creek  had  ben  risin'  all  day  and  it  wuz 
jest  a-bilin'.  Ye  all  know  what  them  spring 
freshets  are  around  here  when  the  snow  starts 
and  goes  off  in  a  day.  Dunbar  looked  the 
situation  over  and  thought  he  could  make  it, 
but  when  they  were  about  in  the  middle  o'  the 
stream,  the  old  horse  kind  o'  lost  his  footin' 
and  somehow  that  angry  current  turned  his 


94  OLD  JIM  CASE 

buggy  clean  over.  Frank  Dunbar  grabbed  his 
baby  and  made  the  fight  o'  his  life,  swimmin' 
against  the  swift  current,  at  the  same  time 
a-hollerin'  ter  his  wife  ter  hang  on  ter  the 
buggy.  Finally  he  reached  the  shore  and  laid 
the  leetle  child  on  the  grass  and  ran  back  ter 
help  his  wife,  but  when  he  'd  got  there  she  'd 
ben  carried  down  the  stream.  He  got  sight 
o'  her  fer  a  minute,  but  only  ter  see  her  go 
down  under  a  lot  o'  float  wood.  One  hope 
wuz  left  him.  He  hurried  back  ter  where  he 
had  left  his  child,  but  when  he  got  there  all 
he  could  see  wuz  the  fresh  dirt  where  the  bank 
had  caved  and  washed  away,  leavin'  only  the 
prints  o'  two  leetle  arms  that  had  slid  down 
and  gone  with  the  ragin'  current. 

"It  wuz  right  there,  boys,  where  y'u  saw 
him  a-sittin',  and  he  hain't  missed  a  day  sence 
that  time  a-bein'  there  jest  at  the  time  o'  day 
when  it  happened.  He  '11  sit  there  and  stare 
inter  that  water  fer  hours,  and  then  ye  '11  see 
'im  go  back  ter  the  house  where  he  has  lived 
alone  by  himself  all  this  time.  So  now  if  ye 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  95 

happen  ter  see  him  a-sittin'  there  again,  boys, 
I  'd  cut  out  that  monkey  play  and  shootin', 
'cause  he  don't  interfere  with  nobody,  and 
there  ain't  so  much  satisfaction,  as  I  kin  see, 
a-botherin'  a  man  who  has  kept  his  sorrows 
ter  himself  all  these  years." 

A  profound  hush  hung  over  the  dimly 
lighted  store.  You  could  have  heard  a  mouse 
whisk  his  tail  on  the  fly-specked  shelves.  The 
listeners  sat  in  silence,  subdued  and  ashamed. 
Old  Jim  Case  wheeled  abruptly  and  went  back 
to  his  seat  on  the  green  tea-chest  behind  the 
rusty  stove. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OLD    JIM     TELLS     CAL    HENRY    BENNINGS's 
STORY 

SOON  after  Bennings  and  his  friends  had 
gone  out,  Cal  Hemmingway  came 
around  from  behind  the  counter  and  took  a 
seat  close  to  Old  Jim. 

"Don't  seem  three  months  ago  ter-night 
that  Frank  Ridgeway  left  the  village,  does  it  ? 
Anybody  heared  anythin'  from  him  ? " 

"Dunno  as  they  have,"  answered  Old  Jim. 
"Probabilities  be  he's  got  his  hands  full 
a-keepin'  his  watch  and  a-dodgin'  gold  bricks. 
Ye  know  them  New  Yorkers  ain't  like  folks 
here  in  the  Hollow.  Ye  've  got  ter  keep  yer 
eyes  pealed  down  there  or  they  '11  cut  the 
buttons  right  off  yer  coat.  They  jest  think  o' 
money,  that  's  all,  and  o'  what  they  kin  git  off 
ye.  Takes  a  pretty  spry  feller  ter  git  on  ter 


OLD  JIM  CASE  97 

their  frame-ups,  as  we  'd  call  'em  in  a  crooked 
horse  race,  and  jest  as  like  as  not  they  're 
a-keepin'  Frank  Ridgeway  mighty  busy." 

"Don't  believe  he  's  ben  any  busier  than  a 
certain  party  right  here  in  the  village,"  said 
Cal,  as  he  looked  sharply  at  Jim.  "Ye  ben 
hearin'  any  gossip  'bout  a  certain  party  ? 
'Cause  if  ye  hain't,  why  't  ain't  fer  me  ter  say 
nothin',  but  if  ye  have  —  wa'al,  why,  o'  course, 
that 's  different." 

'Ye  don't  mean  Henrr  Bennings,  do  ye?" 
whispered  Old  Jim. 

"Wa'al,  I  guess  ye  're  pretty  warm.  What 
d'ye  know  'bout  him?" 

"Know,"  answered  Jim.  "Why,  I  know 
the  hull  story,  but  I  hain't  s'posed  ter  tell 
nothin'.  Ye  see,  I  met  Bennings  in  the  city 
t'other  night,  and  he  rode  over  with  me. 
Wa'al,  it  turned  out  ter  be  the  roughest  night 
I  ever  see,  thunderin'  and  lightnin'  and  the 
rain  a-pourin'  down  in  sheets  —  one  o7  them 
nights  that  ye  have  ter  snuggle  up  close  ter 
each  other,  and  ye  're  apt  ter  git  confidential 


98  OLD  JIM  CASE 

and  tell  things  that  ye  would  n't  if  the  sun 
wuz  a-shinin'." 

"And  did  Henry  Bennings  tell  ye  somethin' 
that  night  ? "  asked  Cal. 

"Told  me  a  hull  lot  o'  things  —  guess  'bout 
everything  fer  he  did  most  all  the  talkin* 
a-comin*  over,  only  stoppin'  now  and  then  ter 
lift  up  the  rubber  blanket  so  as  ter  let  the  rain 
water  run  off  er  ter  ketch  his  breath  after  a 
sharp  clap  o'  thunder." 

"Ye  did  n't  promise  not  ter  tell  what  he  told 
ye,  did  ye  ? "  inquired  Cal,  with  an  inquisitive 
look. 

Old  Jim  pushed  the  tea-chest  over  nearer 
the  sawdust  box,  and  as  he  seated  himself 
again  he  looked  over  at  Cal  and  said,  "  Did  n't 
promise  nothin*.  And  seein'  we  're  all  by 
ourselves,  jest  me  and  you,  I  'm  a-goin'  ter 
give  ye  part  o'  the  story  anyway,  and  I  '11 
tell  it  jest  as  Hemy  Bennings  told  it  ter  me  — 
that  is,  o'  course,  bein'  as  near  as  I  kin  remem- 
ber it. 

"Ye  see  we  had  n't  a-ridden  more  'n  a  mile 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  99 

er  so  when,  ter  kind  o'  break  the  monotony, 
I  remarked  how  I  hoped  the  old  mare  had  n't 
fergot  how  ter  swim,  'cause  if  it  kept  on  a 
a-rainin'  it  might  be  over  our  heads  by  the 
time  we  reached  the  village.  This  could  n't 
'a'  struck  him  as  so  very  funny,  'cause  we 
splashed  along  through  the  mud  and  ruts  fer 
'bout  five  minutes  before  he  even  answered, 
and  then  he  kind  o'  mumbled  out  that  he 
would  n't  mind  a-bein'  drownded  —  said  he  'd 
jest  as  soon  be  dead  as  livin'.  'What 's  the 
trouble  ? '  sez  I.  '  Don't  like  ter  see  a  young 
colt  like  you  a-gettin'  discouraged  so  early  in 
the  season.  Ye  hain't  hardly  got  ter  goin'  yet. 
Ye  're  jest  bein'  kind  o'  tried  out,  as  it  were, 
ter  see  what  class  ye  belong  in.  What  ye  got 
ter  do  is  ter  make  a  showin'  in  a  heat  er  two 
before  ye  kin  expect  ter  go  out  and  win  a  race/ 

" '  Don't  expect  ter  win  nothin'  in  this  life's 
race,'  he  grumbled.  'What  I  'm  afraid  of  jest 
now  is  o'  bein'  ruled  off  the  track.' 

"When  he  said  this,  Cal,  I  commenced 
a-thinkin',  sort  o'  workin'  my  head  like,  and 


ioo  OLD  JIM  CASE 

finally  I  asked  him  right  out,  'Ye  hain't  a-ben 
doin'  any  crooked  work,  have  ye,  Bennings  ? ' 

"'Twuz  a  pitchin'  dark  night  and  all  I 
could  see  wuz  the  fire  on  the  end  o'  his  cigar 
and  feel  his  feet  a-bobbin'  up  and  down  on  the 
bottom  o'  the  waggon,  as  if  he  wuz  a-pumpin* 
a  church  organ.  He  hesitated  fer  a  time  before 
answering  and  then,  a-puttin'  his  arm  along 
the  seat  around  the  back  o'  me,  he  leaned  over 
and  sez,  'Jim  Case,  I  've  been  a  damn  fool!' 

"'Wa'al,'  sez  I,  'go  ahead  and  tell  yer 
story.  A  regret  fer  the  past  ain't  no  asset 
fer  the  present.' 

"  'Ye  're  right,  Jim/  sez  he,  as  if  he  'd 
kind  o'  collected  himself.  'When  ye  start 
out  in  life,  ye  want  ter  be  pretty  sure  ter 
start  with  yer  right  foot  furst,  fer  it 's  easier  ter 
get  out  o'  step  than  't  is  ter  get  back  in  again.' 

"  'Wa'al,'  sez  I,  'y'u  know  ter  make  steel 
you  've  got  ter  take  the  iron  and  git  it  ter  a 
white  heat  and  then  hammer  and  hammer  it, 
but  when  y'u  get  all  done,  why  y'u  've  got  steel. 
Henry,'  sez  I,  'it's  the  same  with  folks. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          101 

They  've  got  ter  have  a  lot  o'  knocks  and 
bangs  and  got  ter  go  through  a  lot  o'  trouble 
and  make  a  lot  o'  mistakes,  but  it  all  helps 
ter  make  'urn  "steel,"  er,  in  other  words, 
real  men.' 

"Finally  he  sez  ta  me,  ' Jim,  did  you  ever 
get  inter  any  real  trouble  when  you  wuz 
a-drinkin'?'  'Trouble!'  sez  I,  'why,  it  kept 
me  in  trouble  most  o'  the  time.  The  trouble 
with  drinkin'  is  that  it  makes  y'u  keep  a-puttin' 
things  off,  and  then,  besides,  y'u  know  a 
feller  can't  drink  a  lot  one  day  and  nothin' 
the  next,  fer  when  y'u  get  ter  drinkin'  y'u 
have  ter  keep  a-drinkin'.  It 's  a  good  'eal 
like  a-fallin'  off  o'  the  roof  of  a  fourteen-story 
buildin',  y'u  keep  a-goin'  down  faster  an* 
faster,  an'  when  y'u  do  stop,  why  y'u  hain't 
worth  sweepin'  up.  I  've  known  a  few  that 
could  handle  the  stuff  and  I  've  known  a  hull 
lot  what  could  n't.  My  father  used  ter  say 
that  when  he  'd  see  a  young  man  go  up  ter  a 
bar  in  the  mornin',  all  alone,  and  call  fer  a 
drink  o'  whiskey,  that  he  'd  gamble  on  that 


102  OLD  JIM  CASE 

young  man  a-bein'  pretty  close  ta  the  fallin'-off 
place.  It 's  what  he  used  ter  call  "a-gettin' 
tight  a-tryin'  ta  get  sober." 

"'I  'm  a-tellin'  y'u  all  this,'  sez  I,  "cause 
I  saw  y'u  put  one  [down  the  other  mornin' 
over  ta  the  hut-tel  what  wuz  enough  ta  've 
saved  the  lives  of  a  half  a  dozen  ordinary 
persons/ 

"'I  remember  the  time  y'u  mean,'  sez  he. 
'  'Twuz  a  mornin'  after  a  night  that  I  'd  spent 
over  ta  the  city  a-playin'  cards  and  the 
wheel.' 

"'Hain't  got  ta  gamblin'  too,  have  y'u?' 
I  asked  him. 

'"Not  exactly,'  sez  he.  'Only  played  a  few 
times  is  all.' 

"  Here  I  kinder  pulled  up  the  reins,  and,  as 
the  old  nag  slowed  down,  I  sez  ter  him,  'My 
boy,  y'u  don't  want  ter  ferget  that  you  're 
a-holdin*  a  responsible  persition  over  in  the 
bank,  and  if  I  wuz  y'u  I  'd  come  pretty  near 
a-steerin'  clear  o'  cards  and  them  gettin'- 
somethin'-fer-nothin'  games,  'cause  they 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  103 

would  n't  be  a-payin'  the  rent  and  a-keepin' 
open  fer  y'u  if  they  did  n't  have  some  sort  er 
percentage  in  their  favour.' 

"I  told  him  that  while  I  had  n't  ever  been 
inter  a  real  gamblin'  place,  I  'd  ben  'round  an' 
seen  enough  o'  life  so  's  I  wuz  willin'  ter  go 
along  a-mindin'  my  own  business. 

"Wa'al,  Cal,  we  ploughed  along  in  that 
mud,  in  and  out  o'  the  ruts,  almost  runnin' 
inter  another  rig  once,  't  wuz  so  dog  blamed 
dark,  and  from  the  log  bridge  ter  Sam  Peters's 
place  at  the  turn  he  did  n't  say  nothin',  and 
all  that  time  I  wuz  a-thinkin'  it  all  over  ter 
myself,  and  I  kinder  thought  that  perhaps 
I  'd  a-laid  it  on  a  leetle  too  thick,  and  so  's  ter 
kinder  let  him  down  easy,  I  finally  sez, '  Henry, 
y'u  know  every  man  hez  ben  a  darn  fool 
in  his  day,  some  time  er  nuther.  I  know 
darn  well 't  I  have,  fer  it 's  only  two  years  ago 
over  ta  the  county  fair  that  a  feller  got  me 
throwin'  balls  at  a  lot  o'  stuffed  dolls.  I 
paid  the  cuss  ten  cents  fer  ten  throws,  an'  all 
I  got  back  wuz  a  big,  greasy,  black  ci-gar  full 


io4  OLD  JIM  CASE 

o'  stems  an'  cracks.  Betcha  he  did  n't  pay 
more  'n  sixty  cents  a  hundred  fer  'urn/ 

"Bennings  laughed  a  leetle  fer  the  furst 
time,  and  as  he  thanked  me  fer  tryin'  ta  console 
him,  he  reached  in  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  a 
good  cigar.  *  Here,  Jim,'  sez  he, '  try  that  one. 
'T  won't  kill  y'u.' 

"I  fumbled  'round  in  the  dark  until  I 
reached  it,  and  after  gettin'  a  light  off  o'  his 
stub,  I  made  him  promise  ta  quit  his  foolish- 
ness before  Timothy  Salmon,  the  president  o' 
his  bank,  heared  about  it." 

Old  Jim  wet  the  end  of  his  bandana  hand- 
kerchief, and  as  he  proceeded  to  rub  out  a 
grease  spot  from  his  coat  sleeve,  he  added, 
"  'T  wuz  n't  long  before  he  turned  his  head 
towards  me  again  and  sez,  'Jim,  I  only  wish 
that  we  'd  a-had  this  talk  before,  'cause  y'u 
might  Ve  saved  me  from  a  lot  o'  real  trouble. 
But  it 's  too  late  now,  and  all  that  I  kin  say 
is,  that  I  *m  sorry." 

All  the  while  Cal  Hemmingway  had  fairly 
lost  himself  in  the  story,  and  when  Jim 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          105 

stopped  he  stared  at  him  and  then  blurted 
out,  "Wa'al,  what  had  he  been  a-doin'?" 

"Dunno,"  replied  Jim,  shoving  his  hand- 
kerchief back  in  his  hip  pocket.  "  He  did  n't 
tell  o'  nothin'  what  he  'd  ben  a-doin'  —  jest 
kept  a-tellin'  how  danged  sorry  he  wuz  he  'd 
a-done  it." 

Cal  looked  mystified  for  a  few  seconds  and 
then  said,  "Don't  believe  there's  any  truth 
in  the  story  what 's  a-goin'  'round  the  village 
'bout  him  a-wantin'  ta  marry  Hattie  Salmon, 
doy'u?" 

i 

"Some  o'  the  Widder  Wetherby's  get-ups, 
probably.  She  's  got  so  that  when  there  hain't 
gossip  enough  fer  the  village  folks,  why  she 
jest  makes  up  a  leetle." 

"Wa'al,  I  know,"  resumed  Cal.  "But 
sence  Frank  Ridgeway  went  away,  Henry  's 
a-ben  goin'  up  ter  see  her  pretty  regular,  an' 
what 's  more,  I  seen  'um  out  buggy-ridin' 
here  about  three  Sundays  ago." 

"Don't  care  if  y'u  did,"  broke  in  Old  Jim. 
"She  would  n't  give  a  hill  o'  beans  fer  Henry 


io6  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Bennings.  If  y'u  want  ter  know  my  opinion, 
why  I  kin  tell  y'u  darn  quick,  fer  I  think  it 
kind  o'  stung  her  heart  pretty  deep  that  time 
when  the  hull  village  got  ter  passin*  round 
them  stories  'bout  Frank  Ridgeway.  Ye 
remember,  Cal,  how  they  got  louder  and 
louder,  until,  darned  if  they  did  n't  seem  ter 
clang  from  the  old  blacksmith's  anvil  and  toll 
from  the  tall  steeple  o'  the  church,  and  some- 
times ye  could  almost  hear  'em  re-echo  from 
the  town  clock." 

;'Ye  're  right,  Jim,"  said  Cal,  smiling  a  bit 
proudly  at  his  old  friend's  eloquence.  "There 
were  n't  hardly  a  night  that  somethin'  wuz  n't 
bein'  told  right  here  in  the  store  'bout  Frank 
Ridgeway."  Cal  pulled  the  cat  off  from  the 
counter  into  his  lap,  and  stroked  her  fur 
thoughtfully.  Jim  cracked  a  peanut  and 
gave  the  shuck  a  preoccupied  snap  toward 
the  cat,  and  continued: 

"Wa'al,  seein'  you  've  brought  up  the  name 
o'  Hattie  Salmon,  why  I  s'pose  I  might  as 
well  tell  y'u  the  rest  o'  what  Henry  Bennings 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  107 

wuz  a-tellin'  me  that  night,  ridin'  over  in  the 
rain.  Y'u  see  he  'd  been  hard  up  fer  money, 
and,  as  he  wuz  a-tellin',  had  ta  have  a  hundred 
dollars  darn  quick  somehow  er  'nother." 

Here  old  Jim  lowered  his  voice,  and, 
leaning  over  so  that  both  elbows  rested  on  his 
knees,  he  said,  "Why,  Cal  Hemmingway, 
what  d'  y'u  think  that  feller  did  ? " 

Call  looked  at  him  in  silent,  anxious  ques- 
tioning, and  continued  to  stroke  the  cat, 
purring  away  on  his  lap. 

"  Wa'al,  sir,  he  said  he  went  over  ta  Hattie 
Salmon  and  started  in  a-tellin'  her  how  he 
and  Frank  Ridgeway  had  been  stanch 
friends  from  the  first,  even  when  the  village 
gossips  labelled  'em  rivals." 

"Started  right  off  with  a  damned  lie,  did  n't 
he  ? "  said  Cal.  :<  They  never  were  no  friends, 
and  I  kin  prove  it." 

Old  Jim  brooked  but  little  interference, 
even  from  Cal,  so  he  said  somewhat  sharply, 
"Who's  a-tellin'  this  'ere  story?  Can't  ye 
keep  still  ?  I  'm  a-tryin'  ter  tell  ye  what  Henry 


io8  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Bennings  wuz  a-tellin'  me.  I  hain't  a-givin* 
ye  my  own  opinion  of  it,  be  I  ?  Bennings  said 
he  told  her  how  her  name  wuz  seldom  spoken 
between  him  and  Ridgeway,  'cause  o'  their 
friendship;  said  that  he  and  Frank  kept  their 
inward  feelin's  ter  themselves  and  let  the 
gossips  have  their  say.  Then  he  told  her 
how  their  friendship  still  went  on,  and,  as 
Frank  Ridgeway  had  met  with  a  lot  o'  trouble 
durin'  the  past  three  months,  that  he  wuz 
a-tryin'  ter  help  him;  said  he  could  n't  tell 
her  jest  what  Ridgeway's  trouble  wuz  jest 
then  'cause  he  'd  promised  ter  keep  it  a 
secret." 

"I  reckon  he  kin  do  about  as  much  talkin* 
without  a-sayin'  anythin'  as  anybody  I  ever 
heared,"  said  Cal. 

"Wa'al,  now  wait,"  argued  Jim;  "p'rhaps 
it  were  n't  Bennings  himself  that  wuz  a-doin* 
all  the  talkin',  fer  if  ye  could  'a '  got  a  whiff 
o'  his  breath  as  I  did  ye  might  be  willin'  ter 
believe  that  it  wuz  the  old  Red  Eye  that  wuz 
a-kind  o'  promptin'  him  ter  tell  what  he  did." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          109 

"Mebbe,"  said  Cal.  "Ye  know  a  codfish 
breakfast  and  a  rubber  coat  '11  keep  a  feller 
dry  all  day." 

"But  wait  till  I  tell  ye  how  slick  he  is," 
resumed  Old  Jim,  squinting  one  eye.  "Ben- 
nings  said  he  asked  her  if  she  recollected  how 
Ridgeway  had  left  the  village  under  a  cloud, 
and  then  he  told  her  how  he  wuz  still  under 
that  cloud,  but  that  with  bis  assistance  he 
believed  and  hoped  that  the  silver  linin',  as 
he  put  it,  would  soon  appear.  Then  he  got 
right  down  ter  business  and  told  her  that  it 
wuz  money  Ridgeway  needed ;  and  she  asked 
him  if  he  could  tell  her  where  Frank  Ridge- 
way wuz,  but  he  said  he  'd  promised  not  ter 
tell  anyone  that  until  this  'ere  trouble  'd  been 
fixed  up.  Then  he  went  on  and  told  how 
she  wuz  the  only  one  he  'd  trust  with  his  secret; 
said  he  'd  sent  Ridgeway  a  hundred  dollars, 
in  fact  all  his  savin's,  but  that  he  did  n't  know 
where  ter  get  the  rest,  as  Frank  needed  a 
hundred  dollars  more." 

"Sent   Ridgeway   all  his   savin's!    Ugh!" 


no  OLD  JIM  CASE 

grunted  Cal.  "Savin's  nothin' !  Don't 
believe  all  his  savin's  would  've  bought  a 
postage  stamp." 

Old  Jim  brought  his  fist  down  on  the 
counter  with  a  bang.  "Cal  Hemmingway, 
ye  Ve  got  that  cuss  sized  up  jest  right. 
Darned  if  ye  hain't.  Fer  jest  as  we  were 
comin'  round  the  Hog's  Back  he  lighted  up 
a  fresh  cigar  and  as  he  gave  me  a  slap  on  the 
back  he  sez,  *  Jim,  did  n't  I  hand  her  that 
story  pretty  well  ?  But  if  I  ever  fall  down  in 
this  'ere  game,  or  if  she  and  Ridgeway  should 

ever    meet    agin '      Bennings    kind    o' 

shivered  a  bit  at  this  thought,  and  then  said, 
'Wa'al,  Jim,  the  day  may  come  when  I  kin 
jump  South  Hollow,  and  then,  why  who  '11 
care  anyway?'  I  told  him  if  he'd  jump 
South  Hollow  without  owin'  anybody  any- 
thin'  that  I  thought  the  village  'd  be  willin* 
ter  chip  in  and  buy  a  spring-board  ter  help 
him  git  as  fur  off  as  possible,  and  then  I  asked 
him  if  he  got  the  hundred  dollars.  '  Did  I  git 
the  money  ?' sez  he.  'Course  I  got  it.'  Said 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  in 

she  went  in  the  house  a  few  minutes  and  when 
she  came  out  she  slipped  a  bulky  white 
envelope  inter  his  hand,  at  the  same  time  a 
a-sayin',  '  Let  me  help  y'u,  Henry,  in  the  good 
cause  o'  placin'  a  silver  linin'  on  that  cloud  fer 
Frank  Ridgeway.'  What  's  the  matter  with 
that,  Cal;  hain't  that  jest  like  a  woman  ? 

"We  wuz  a-comin'  inter  the  village  by  this 
time,  and  it  only  took  a  few  minutes  before  I 
pulled  up  in  front  o'  his  boardin'  house,  and  I 
out  and  asked  him  what  he  did  with  the  money. 
'Ain't  got  time  ter  tell  ye  now/  sez  he,  as  he 
jumped  out  on  ter  the  steppin'  stone.  'Guess 
I  Jve  talked  too  much  as  it  is.  Ye  know,  Jim, 
a  rough  night  and  a  few  drinks  aboard  is 
liable  ter  make  a  damned  fool  of  a  man.' 

"Then  he  turned  and  ran  through  the 
pourin'  rain  inter  the  house,  and  I  drove  on 
hum,  a-thinkin'  o'  that  poor  girl  a-bein' 
fooled  by  that  darned  scoundrel." 

"Quite  a  yarn,"  said  Cal,  as  he  pushed  the 
cat  off  his  lap  on  to  the  floor  and  walked  back 
toward  the  desk.  "Probabilities  be  we  '11 


ii2  OLD  JIM  CASE 

never  hear  the  rest  of  it;  won't  be  apt  ter  git 
the  conditions  jest  right." 

"Mebbe  not,"  answered  Jim. 

Then  they  agreed  to  keep  Henry  Bennings's 
story  to  themselves,  as  Old  Jim  allowed  that 
what  folks  don't  know  won't  hurt  'em  much. 


CHAPTER  IX 

HENRY  BENNINGS'S   UNPLEASANT  SURPRISE 

WHILE  Henry  Bennings  had  perhaps 
told  Old  Jim  much  more  than  he 
had  honestly  intended  to  tell  concerning  his 
visit  to  Hattie  Salmon  and  its  purpose,  yet, 
upon  reaching  his  room  afterward,  he  was 
able  to  congratulate  himself  that  after  all  he 
had  not  divulged  the  real  secret.  After  the 
girl  had  given  him  her  money  and  he  had 
bidden  her  good  night,  Henry  Bennings 
hurried  down  the  walk  toward  the  tavern,  a 
hundred  thoughts  tumbling  through  his  brain. 
"Well,  I  'm  out  of  one  scrape  but  into 
another,  and  it  will  be  a  bad  one  if  they  ever 
find  it  out;  but,  after  all,  how  can  they  find  it 
out  ?  I  really  don't  believe  Ridgeway  will 
ever  show  up  here  again.  The  only  reason 
he  could  ever  have  for  remembering  this  spot 

"3 


ii4  OLD  JIM  CASE 

would  be  Hattie,  and  she  admitted  her  ignor- 
ance of  his  whereabouts.  But  still,  should  she 
question  me  in  the  future  about  him,  of  his 
success  or  failure,  it  will  keep  me  busy  invent- 
ing lies  for  evermore." 

A  little  farther  down  the  street  a  new 
inspiration  came  to  him.  "Why  can't  I  lose 
track  of  him  altogether  ?  That  will  stop  all 
her  questions.  Or,  better  than  that,  make 
her  believe  him  dead?  That's  it!  He'll 
be  dead!  Then  perhaps  my  chances  as 
the  son-in-law  to  the  Honourable  Timothy 
Salmon  will  look  more  rosy.  By  Jove,  that 's 
a  scheme !  Frank  Ridgeway,  you  're  a  dead 
one,  my  boy;  you  're  going  to  die  in  about 
two  weeks.  You  don't  know  it,  Frank,  but 
you  're  sick  in  the  hospital  right  now,  and  I 
am  borrowing  money  from  your  sweetheart 
to  buy  pills  for  you."  Henry  laughed  aloud 
at  the  thought.  "Guess  I  '11  take  a  drink  on 
that,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  into  the  hotel. 

He  nodded  to  several  men  who  were  sitting 
about  the  place,  and  then  pushed  back  the 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  115 

door  which  led  into  the  bar-room.  He  had 
taken  only  a  few  steps  when  he  felt  a  sharp 
slap  on  his  back.  As  he  turned  he  saw  a 
tall,  square-shouldered  individual,  with  a 
heavy  black  moustache,  who  said,  in  his  harsh, 
familiar  voice,  "Henry,  me  boy,  where  in  the 
devil  is  your  hang-out  ?  I  've  been  lookin' 
over  this  hull  damned  burgh  fer  y'u." 

Henry  Bennings  was  held  in  surprise  for  a 
moment,  but  his  self-possession  soon  came 
back,  and  he  took  his  friend  by  the  arm  and 
led  him  the  full  length  of  the  bar;  then, 
turning  into  a  little  side  room,  they  seated 
themselves.  Bennings  kicked  the  door  shut 
and  they  settled  down  for  a  heart-to-heart 
talk. 

The  old  hotel  keeper  had  been  looking  over 
the  corner  of  his  newspaper  and  had  noticed 
the  queer  look  on  Bennings's  face.  He 
listened  until  he  heard  their  door  bang  shut. 
Then  he  stepped  behind  the  desk,  and, 
swinging  the  old  shabby  register  around,  he 
ran  his  finger  along  the  names.  Three  arrivals 


ii6  OLD  JIM  CASE 

had  safely  landed  that  night  at  the  tavern, 
and  one  of  them  was  a  stranger.  :<  That's 
the  feller,"  he  said  to  himself  as  his  finger 
stopped  at  the  last  name  on  the  page.  Being 
a  little  far-sighted,  he  pushed  his  spectacles  up 
over  his  forehead,  and  then  read,  Edward 
Bailey,  Syracuse,  N.  Y . 

"Per  God's  sake,"  he  muttered,  "that's 
Bunk  Bailey,  the  gambler,  and  supposed  ter 
be  the  slickest  one  in  the  country!  Wonder 
what 's  up  that  he  's  out  here  inquirin'  after 
Henry  Bennings.  Don't  look  jest  right  fer 
him  and  a  bank  clerk  ter  be  a-holdin'  secret 
sessions  in  a  country  tavern." 

His  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  he  walked  to 
the  farther  end  of  the  bar  where  he  could 
pretend  to  be  cleaning  up,  but  where  he  could 
in  reality  catch  all  of  their  conversation  that 
might  drift  his  way  from  the  little  side  room. 
Presently  he  was  rewarded.  "'T  won't  do. 
'T  won't  do,"  he  heard  the  harsh  voice  say. 
'You  can't  stave  me  off  another  day.  D'ye 
think  I  rode  all  these  miles  in  that  damned  old 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          117 

rattlebox  for  my  health  ?  Ye  played  the  game 
and  lost,  and  now  it 's  up  to  you  to  settle. 
See?" 

"Not  so  loud;  not  so  loud,"  interrupted 
Bennings. 

The  old  hotel  keeper  had  stopped  wiping 
up.  In  fact  he  listened  so  earnestly  that  he 
shoved  the  towel  in  his  top  coatpocket  where 
it  dangled  in  the  guise  of  a  handkerchief. 

"  Played  the  game  and  lost,  hey  ? "  repeated 
the  proprietor.  "So  Henry  Bennings  has  ben 
a-monkeyin'  with  the  buzz-saw.  Guess  I  '11 
say  nuthin'  and  kind  o'  keep  my  eyes  open  in 
his  direction." 

The  conversation  had  died  down  to  a 
whisper.  A  little  later  the  two  men  came  out 
and  left  the  tavern.  As  they  did  so,  the  land- 
lord went  in  and  turned  down  the  lamp  so 
that  he  could  look  out  of  the  window  through 
the  half  closed  shutters.  He  saw  them  walk 
across  the  street'and  stop  on  the  opposite  side, 
where  they  lingered  as  if  in  further  argument. 
Suddenly  they  stepped  into  the  shadow  of  the 


ii8  OLD  JIM  CASE 

stairway  leading  up  over  the  millinery  store, 
where  Henry  Bennings  took  from  his  inside 
pocket  a  bulky  white  envelope  and  handed  it 
to  Bunk  Bailey.  Then  he  disappeared  up 
the  side  street. 


CHAPTER  X 

A   STRANGER   IN   THE    VILLAGE 

THE  hotel  keeper  was  startled  out  of  his 
reverie  over  the  queer  transaction  by 
the  impatient  clink  of  a  coin.  He  quickly 
turned  up  the  lamp  and  hurried  back  into  the 
bar-room  to  take  orders.  In  front  of  the  bar 
stood  Eph  Lancaster,  the  village  carpenter, 
and  at  the  extreme  end,  lazily  leaning  over  on 
his  elbows,  an  Onondaga  Indian,  who  grunted 
out,  "Gimme  a  drink  of  somethinV  Pop 
had  not  kept  a  hotel  on  the  border  of  the  Indian 
Reservation  all  these  years  without  knowing 
what  "somethin'"  meant.  He  snapped  the 
little  tin  off  of  a  ginger  ale  bottle,  and,  as  it  is 
against  the  law  to  sell  anything  intoxicating 
to  an  Indian,  he  used  the  precaution  of  fixing 
the  dose  underneath  the  bar,  and  then,  in  an 

innocent  sort  of  a  way,  set  the  glass  down 

119 


OLD  JIM  CASE 

before  him.  Pop  knew  the  wants  of  all  his 
customers,  and,  without  asking  a  question, 
drew  a  large  glass  of  ale  for  Eph  Lancaster. 
Then  turning  to  the  faded  Red  Man,  he  asked, 
"I  suppose  the  Indian  Band  is  havin'  their 
rehearsal  in  the  blacksmith  shop  right  along 
hain't  they?" 

The  Indian  seemed  thoroughly  satisfied  with 
the  concoction  that  Pop  had  fixed  for  him  and 
nodded  his  head  up  and  down,  and  with  a  voice 
way  down  in  his  throat,  he  let  out  a  couple 
of  grunts  which  Pop  understood  as  <;<Yes." 

"Well,  sir,"  continued  Pop,  "the  last  time 
I  heared  'em  play  I  '11  be  doggoned  if  they 
were  n't  the  best  band  't  I  ever  hearn." 

"So  they  be,"  said  Eph.  "But,  hell,  they 
ought  ter  be.  They  've  ben  a-practisin'  right 
there  in  the  blacksmith  shop  every  Friday 
night  fer  more  'n  five  years." 

Pop  collected  the  empty  glasses,  and  after 
rinsing  them  in  the  sink  below,  placed  them 
back  on  the  shelf  in  time  to  answer  his  wife's 
call  for  supper. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          121 

"Seem'  that  I'm  kind  a  late  fer  my  feed 
ta-night,  guess  I  '11  go  right  along  in.  But 
I  '11  be  back  agin  after  a  little,"  he  said, 
as  he  passed  out  and  down  the  hall  to  the 
kitchen. 

The  Indian  met  his  squaw  outside  and  they 
started  toward  the  bridge  that  leads  in  the 
direction  of  the  Reservation.  * 

Eph  Lancaster  picked  up  a  fly-specked 
almanac  and  seated  himself  in  an  easy  chair 
which  tipped  back  under  a  side-light,  and 
endeavoured  to  look  up  the  signs  of  the  zodiac. 
A  moment  later  Bunk  Bailey  entered  the  room, 
wearing  a  satisfied  look,  having  accomplished 
his  purpose.  He  gazed  around  as  if  sizing  up 
the  place,  and  then  walked  over  and  spent 
some  little  time  looking  at  a  picture  of  a 
race  horse,  under  which  was  printed,  in 
large  type,  "Flora  Temple,  World's  Record 
Time,  2:40." 

"Well,  I  '11  be  damned,  if  that  hain't  an  old 
timer.  I  suppose  they  thought  that  wuz 
a-goin'  like  hell  in  them  days.  Well,  don't 


122  OLD  JIM  CASE 

know  but  it  wuz,  considerin'  that  old,  wooden, 
high-wheeled  sulky;  looks  more  as  if  it  wuz 
a  hay  rake,  don't  it  ? " 

Eph  Lancaster  was  too  busy  with  his 
almanac  to  answer,  and  Bailey  moved  along 
to  the  next  picture.  He  wiped  the  dust  off 
the  glass  with  his  handkerchief,  and 
exclaimed,  "Well,  I  declare;  here  is  one  that 
takes  me  back  ta  my  boyhood  days.  Dexter, 
2:17,  hey!  I  'd  like  to  have  a  dollar  fer  every 
programme  that  I  've  sold  at  the  race  track 
when  I  wuz  a  kid,  with  his  name  on  it. 
'T  ain't  a  bad  picture  of  him  neither." 

As  Eph  Lancaster  would  not  enter  into  con- 
versation, he  walked  back,  and  after  fumbling 
over  a  stack  of  soiled  papers  that  were  piled 
up  at  the  end  of  the  desk,  he  finally  picked  out 
a  back  number  of  the  Police  Gazette  and  tried 
to  amuse  himself  looking  at  the  pictures. 
After  a  time  he  walked  over  to  Eph  and, 
tapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  he  inquired, 
in  a  moderate  tone  of  voice,  "'Bout  how 
long  d'  ye  s'pose  I  '11  have  ter  wait  before  the 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  123 

proprietor  of  this  establishment  '11  make  an 
appearance?" 

Eph  looked  up  from  his  book,  and,  with  a 
yawn,  answered,  "Why,  he  went  'round  inter 
the  kitchen  a  while  ago  ter  git  some  supper. 
Probabilities  are  that  he  won't  be  gone  long, 
but  if  there  is  anythin'  y'u  want,  jest  help 
yerself ;  there  's  three  different  kinds  o'  se-gars 
in  that  'ere  case,  and  the  bar  is  right  there  in 
the  next  room.  We  always  wait  on  ourselves 
when  he  's  eatin'  er  doin'  his  chores,  an'  we 
leave  the  pay  in  that  se-gar  box  over  there 
at  the  end  of  the  shelf." 

Bailey  looked  at  the  box,  then  down  again 
at  Lancaster. 

"Y'u  don't  mean  that  rje  thinks  people  are 
as  honest  as  all  that,  do  y'u  ? " 

Eph  wet  the  end  of  his  thumb,  and,  turning 
over  a  leaf,  he  replied,  "Folks  what  live  here 
in  South  Hollow  he  knows  be." 

Bailey  said  no  more;  he  crossed  over  to 
the  washstand  in  the  corner  of  the  room  and 
tried  to  adjust  his  tie  in  the  wavy  looking-glass 


i24  OLD  JIM  CASE 

i 

that  hung  above.  He  combed  out  his  mous- 
tache, and,  tipping  his  hat  a  little  to  one  side, 
left  the  hotel. 

It  was  not  long  after  that  some  of  the  boys 
came  in.  They  had  come  over  from  Cal's 
to  quench  their  thirst  and  kill  the  taste  of 
peanuts  and  tobacco.  The  first  one  in  line 
who  was  rattling  his  coin,  was  known  about 
the  village  as  the  "Tall  Pine."  His  figure 
was  long  and  spindling,  and  he  spoke  with  a 
slow,  lazy  voice.  As  he  tossed  over  the  piece 
of  money  to  the  proprietor,  he  drawled  out: 
"See  there  Js  a  stran-ger  in  town.  Come  over 
in  the  stage  Js  afternoon." 

"Yes,  so  I  see,"  replied  the  hotel  keeper,  as 
though  it  was  an  every-day  occurrence  to  have 
a  new  arrival. 

"Coin'  ter  stay  here  ter  the  tavern  all  night, 
er  got  'quaintances?"  queried  the  Tall  Pine 
as  he  turned  toward  the  sawdust  box  and 
blew  the  froth  from  his  beer. 

"I  hain't  supposed  ter  know  everybody's 
business,  be  I  ?  Y'u  think  I  kin  keep  track  of 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          125 

all  the  travellin'  public  ?  There  be  folks  goin' 
through  South  Hollow  most  every  week  that 
I  never  seen  before  ner  never  see  agin," 
answered  the  old  fellow,  putting  on  an  air  of 
dignity  that  made  his  customers  smile. 

"What's  the  name  o'  this  newcomer?" 
continued  the  Tall  Pine,  as  he  counted  over  his 
change  and  dropped  it  into  a  grimy  old  shot- 
bag.  He  pulled  the  puckering-strings  back 
together,  and,  winding  them  around,  shoved 
the  improvised  wallet  far  down  into  his  over- 
alls pocket. 

The  tavern  keeper  was  still  in  the  shadow 
of  his  "grouch." 

"  Guess  if  ye  want  ter  know  his  name  very 
bad,  ye  kin  look  it  up  on  the  hotel  register, 
same  as  I  had  ter.  It 's  right  there  on  the 
desk  this  side  o'  the  cigar  case." 

They  all  moved  over  to  the  book  and  one  of 
them  opened  it  and  read  aloud,  "Edward 
Bailey,  Syracuse,  N.  Y." 

"He  hain't  no  hay  buyer,  ner  he  can't  be 
here  a-roddin'  houses,"  said  the  reader. 


iz6  OLD  JIM  CASE 

"And  't  ain't  Bailey  the  circus  man,  'cause 
he 's  dead,"  said  the  Tall  Pine,  as  he  turned 
to  the  hotel  keeper.  "Bennett  wuz  over  ter 
Cal's  a  leetle  while  ago  and  he  wuz  a-sayin' 
that  he  'd  swear  that  he  were  n't  no  Methodist 
minister  either,  'cause  what  he  said  on  the 
way  comin'  over,  referrin'  ter  the  stage,  wuz 
quite  enough  ter  shock  Old  Elder  Armstrong, 
who  wuz  along  too.  Why,  Bennett  told  how 
it  got  where  the  Elder  could  n't  listen  to  such 
cussin'  and  finally  had  ter  call  'im  down  fer  it, 
and  when  he  did,  this  man  Bailey  jest  looked 
at  him  'bout  a  minute,  and  then,  leanin' 
over  toward  'im,  said,  in  a  gentle  sort  o'  way, 
'  My  leetle  man,  don't  you  know  that  profanity 
has  been  one  thing  that 's  helped  ter  keep  the 
Lord's  name  before  the  public  fer  over  two 
thousand  years?" 

"How  's  that  fer  bein*  sacre-legious ? "  said 
the  Tall  Pine,  as  he  wiped  his  hand  across 
the  bar  in  an  effort  to  catch  a  nimble  fly. 
"And  then  this  man  Bailey  turned  onter  Old 
Bennett  an'  hollered  out,  'Say,  Rip  Van 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  127 

Winkle,  can't  ye  git  a  gait  on  yer  old  ark  and 
land  me  at  the  tavern  ?  I  'm  gettin'  the 
fidgets  in  my  feet." 

"Old  ark!  How's  that,  boys?  Don't 
Bennett's  stately  coach  look  as  though  it  had 
been  runnin'  sence  the  flood  ?  Guess  he  ought 
ter  take  the  hint  and  buy  a  paint  brush." 

"Whatcha  talkin'  'bout?"  spoke  up  Jim 
Case,  who  had  entered  with  Hiram  Wilcox 
during  the  story. 

"Why,  there  's  a  stranger  in  town,  registered 
here  at  the  tavern  as  Edward  Bailey  from 
Syracuse.  Wuz  n't  ever  here  before  and  we  're 
a-tryin'  ter  figure  out  who  he  is  and  what  Js 
his  business  in  these  parts,"  answered  the 
Tall  Pine. 

"Told  Pop  over  there,"  he  continued,  point- 
ing to  the  tavern  keeper,  "ter  give  'im  a  room 
with  a  bath,  and  Pop  asked  'im  if  he  thought 
he  wuz  in  a  sanitarium.  He  ought  ter  'a' 
told  'im  'bout  the  time  that  he  closed  up  the 
hut-tel  fer  four  days  ter  go  an'  paint  Bill 
Daniels's  barn  —  don't  know  what  we  'd 


128  OLD  JIM  CASE 

done  if  Pop  had  n't  been  born  in  South 
Hollow,  even  if  he  ain't  slick  enough  ter  tell 
us  all  'bout  this  'ere  stranger." 

Old  Jim  put  a  thumb  in  each  corner  of  his 
vest,  and  wiggled  his  fingers  back  and  forth. 
"  Boys,"  he  said,  "if  he  'd  ever  been  'round  the 
race  track  much  you  'd  a-knowed  'im.  He 
hain't  no  professional  gambler,  'cause  they  're 
on  the  square.  He  's  jest  a  common  crook, 
and  known  around  as  Bunk  Bailey.  Got 
the  name  from  bunco-in'  folks.  I  met  'im 
out  in  front  a  leetle  while  ago,  and  he  wuz 
a-sayin'  how  he  thought  he  'd  be  a-goin'  back 
in  the  mornin'  on  the  furst  stage,  havin* 
finished  up  his  business  here.  Business!" 
repeated  Old  Jim.  "I  'd  like  ter  know  what 
kind  o'  business  he  'd  be  a-havin'  in  this  quiet 
leetle  village.  Anyway,  boys,  I  'd  advise  ye 
all  ter  lock  up  putty  good  and  tight  ter-night, 
'cause  ye  can't  tell,  he  might  change  his  mind 
and  want  ter  do  a  leetle  more  business,  some- 
thin'  in  the  way  o'  a  side  line." 

Old  Jim  cocked  his  hat  back  on  his  head  a 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  129 

couple  of  notches  and  strutted  across  the  room 
with  the  air  of  a  peacock.  During  the  rest 
of  the  evening  everybody  walked  around 
with  hands  in  pockets  and  coats  buttoned 
up  tight. 


CHAPTER  XI 

OLD  JIM  CASE  GOES  TO  NEW  YORK 

IT  WAS  late  one  afternoon  just  before  sunset 
when  Old  Jim  and  a  friend  from  the  city 
stopped  at  a  little  gurgling  spring  for  a  drink 
of  cold  water.  They  proceeded  to  unjoint  their 
fishing  rods  and  were  willing  to  call  it  a  day,  hav- 
ing whipped  the  streams  since  early  morning. 
Jim's  friend  was  a  well-known  business  man 
of  Syracuse,  and  his  love  for  fine  horses  had 
been  the  means  of  bringing  the  two  together 
and  making  them  lifelong  friends.  Not  a 
season  had  passed  for  many  years  that  he  had 
not  been  invited  by  Old  Jim  to  have  a  day's 
trout  fishing  about  South  Hollow,  and  these 
trips  were  always  anticipated,  almost  as  much 
to  hear  Old  Jim's  many  stories  and  quaint 
sayings  as  the  satisfaction  of  bringing  home  a 
well-filled  basket. 

130 


OLD  JIM  CASE  131 

Old  Jim  was  balancing  himself  with  bent 
knees,  dressing  and  cleaning  the  trout  in  the 
cold  spring  water.  He  diligently  purled  away 
at  his  old  clay  pipe.  Suddenly  he  stopped, 
and,  with  a  satisfied  air,  tossed  the  last  one 
into  the  basket.  He  cleaned  his  toad  stabber, 
as  he  called  it,  by  jabbing  the  knife  a  few  times 
into  the  ground;  and  then,  as  he  straightened 
up,  he  reached  forward,  handing  the  basket 
over  to  his  friend.  "Thar  y'u  be.  Put  the 
biggest  one  on  top  so  's  y'u  need  n't  be  'fraid 
o'  liftin'  the  cover.  How  much  '11  he  weigh  ? 
Oh,  guess  he  'd  go  'bout  two  and  a  quarter, 
and  that  hain't  half  bad,  seein'  he  's  dressed." 

"Well,  Jim,  I  can't  tell  how  grateful  I  am. 
I  look  forward  from  year  to  year  to  our  day's 
fishing  together.  It  is  certainly  a  privilege, 
and  one  that  I  greatly  appreciate." 

The  two  had  started  over  what  is  called  the 
Indian  Trail,  which  leads  from  the  Onondaga 
Indian  Reservation  through  the  woods  out  into 
the  main  road,  where  Jim's  companion  had 
left  his  horse  in  a  nearby  barn.  They  tramped 


132  OLD  JIM  CASE 

along  for  some  time.  No  sound  disturbed 
the  quiet,  except  the  cracking,  now  and  then, 
of  a  bough,  or  the  scuffling  of  their  feet  through 
dead  leaves. 

Finally  the  long  silence  was  broken  by  Jim's 
friend.  "  Ever  been  to  New  York  ? " 

Jim  walked  straight  ahead,  turning  his 
head  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left. 

"New  York,"  he  grunted.  "Never  been 
far  outer  Onondaga  County,  let  alone  New 
York." 

There  was  a  little  time  taken  up  climbing 
over  an  old  rail  fence,  after  which  his  friend 
continued,  "Don't  suppose  you  could  get 
away  for  a  few  days  ?  I  leave  Syracuse  at  8. 50 
to-morrow  morning.  You  're  invited  to  go 
along  if  you  '11  promise  to  leave  your  pocket- 
book  at  home  and  not  eat  with  your  knife. 
What  I  want  is  good  company  and  it  would 
be  a  treat  for  me  to  show  you  around.  If 
you  will  agree  to  go,  you  will  be  doing  me  a 
favour." 

Even  this  did    not    give    Jim    Case    the 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          133 

expected  shock.  He  never  changed  his  step 
"I  'd  do  most  anything"  he  answered  back, 
"ter  be  a-doin'  ye  a  favour,  even  if  't  wuz  ter 
go  ter  New  York  and  give  up  my  knife 
balancin'  act  which  I  Ve  re-ligiously  re-hearsed 
three  times  a  day  fer  over  forty  years.  As  fer 
time,  guess  I  could  afford  ter  lose  a  couple  o* 
days'  fishin'." 

When  they  said  good  night  at  the  turn  of 
the  road,  both  were  talking  at  once,  and  their 
last  words  were,  "8.50  A.  M.,  New  York 
Central  Station." 

Although  Jim  had  tried  to  appear  indifferent 
to  this  generous  invitation,  he  could  contain 
himself  no  longer.  He  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder,  and  when  assured  that  his  liberal 
friend  was  well  out  of  sight,  having  gone  in 
the  direction  of  his  rig,  he  made  at  high  speed 
for  South  Hollow.  When  he  reached  home  he 
struck  the  gate  with  his  fist,  making  it  fly 
back  against  the  picket  fence  with  a  slam. 
Over  his  head  came  the  strap  which  held  the 
well-filled  fish  basket.  Everything  was 


134  OLD  JIM  CASE 

hurriedly  thrown  down  on  the  back  porch  and 
he  rushed  into  the  house. 

The  next  morning  Jim  Case  was  on  hand  a 
full  hour  before  train  time.  He  walked  up 
and  down  with  a  bundle  under  his  left  arm 
and  a  large,  green  umbrella  in  his  right  hand. 
He  was  provided  with  high  overshoes,  not 
knowing  just  what  weather  to  expect  in  New 
York.  He  bought  a  paper  at  the  news-stand 
because  it  had  a  picture  of  a  horse  on  it;  and 
then  a  glass  revolver  full  of  little  round,  red 
candies.  The  arrival  of  his  host  saved  him 
further  indiscretions  and  extravagances.  Jim 
was  at  once  introduced  to  a  man  who  made 
the  third  of  the  party;  and  a  few  minutes  later 
they  had  boarded  the  train  and  were  on  their 
way. 

At  about  the  same  time,  Jim  's  wife  put  her 
basket  over  her  arm  and  started  across  the 
street  on  her  way  to  the  general  store  to  do 
her  marketing.  There  was  something  of 
trouble  and  excitement  in  her  bearing.  As 
Cal  Hemmingway  came  forward  with  pad 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  135 

and  pencil  in  hand  to  take  her  order,  he 
inquired  after  Jim.  "The  widder  Wetherby 
wuz  jest  in,"  he  said,  "and  wuz  a-tellin'  how 
Jim  had  gone  ter  New  York.  I  '11  betcha  he 
wuz  a  leetle  mite  excited,  were  n't  he  ? " 

"Ex-cited!"  spoke  up  Mrs.  Case.  "Guess 
you  'd  a-thought  so."  She  tossed  her  basket 
over  on  the  counter  and  went  on.  "Ye 
orter  a-seen  him  come  runnin'  inter  the  house 
last  night  when  he  come  hum  from  fishin*. 
Instead  o'  callin'  me  and  the  children  outer 
see  his  fish  and  ter  explain  how  each  one  wuz 
hooked  and  hauled  in,  as  he  always  has  a-done 
fer  years,  he  ran  right  through  the  kitchen  and 
inter  the  hall,  then  whirled  'round  the  post  at 
the  foot  o'  the  staircase  like  a  circus  clown, 
and  went  upstairs  with  a  jump  and  inter  his 
room. 

"'T  wuz  n't  only  a  few  minutes  before 
downstairs  he  cum,  a-hurryin'  inter  another 
room;  he  fumbled  'round  in  a  drawer  fer 
somethin'  and  then,  like  a  madman,  shot 
upstairs  agin. 


136  OLD  JIM  CASE 

"All  o'  this  time  me  and  the  children  stood 
a-lookin'  on.  We  did  n't  speak;  we  could  n't. 
We  were  all  a-thinkin,'  and  all  a-thinkin'  the 
same;  all  a-thinkin'  that  Jim  Case  had  gone 
crazy. 

"After  a  while  we  partly  came  to  and 
started  up-stairs,  one  a-followin'  the  other, 
me  a-leadin'  ahead  with  the  broom.  We 
all  crept  quietly  through  the  dark  hall  to  Jim's 
room,  and  when  I  looked  in,  all  I  could  see  o* 
him  wuz  his  legs  a-stickin'  out  from  under  the 
bed.  We  could  hear  his  hands  a-slashin* 
back  and  forth,  and  he  wuz  breathin'  hard. 
'Thinks  he  's  a  fish/  sez  I  to  the  frightened 
children.  'I  always  knowed  fishin'  would  be 
the  death  o'  him/ 

"When  he  started  ter  draw  himself  out, 
we  scattered  and  went  jumpin'  and  tumblin* 
down-stairs  agin,  'cause,  ye  see,  we  did  n't 
know  what  he  'd  be  a-doin'  next.  Might  get 
it  inter  his  head  that  he  wuz  a  whale.  Bein' 
*s  I  wuz  the  last  one  ter  reach  the  bottom,  I 
turned  and  called  out,  'Jim  Case,  what  on 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          137 

earth  ails  ye  ? '  When  I  said  this,  he  come  ter 
the  head  o'  the  stairs,  the  beads  o'  perspiration 
droppin'  from  his  forehead.  Why,  Cal  Hem- 
mingway,  I  only  wish  ye  could  'a'  seen  him. 
He  wuz  covered  with  dust  and  dirt  from  head 
ter  foot.  I  had  ter  laugh  right  out  loud  —  I 
could  n't  help  it  —  fer  I  understood  when  I 
saw  him  standin'  there  a-holdin'  a  collar  button 
in  his  right  hand." 

"Them  collar  buttons  be  a  darned  nuis- 
ance," said  Cal.  "They  're  always  droppin' 
and  rollin'  under  somethin'.  If  't  were  n't 
fer  keepin'  a  store  and  havin'  ter  wait  on 
customers,  I  'd  wear  a  flannel  shirt  and  a 
handkerchief  'round  my  neck  same  as  Jim 
does.  Don't  s'pose  I  orter  be  talkin*  agin 
collar  buttons  though,  'cause  I  sold  more  'n 
three  dozen  right  here  in  this  store  last  year." 
Then  Mr.  Cal  Hemmingway,  merchant, 
straightened  his  lanky  form  and  threw  his 
shoulders  back,  as  Mrs.  Case  went  on  with 
her  story. 

"Wa'al,  sir,  when  Jim  saw  me  laughin', 


138  OLD  JIM  CASE 

he  jest  started  and  stormed  at  me  somethin' 
awful.  Kind  o'  acted  crazy-like  again,  and 
I  commenced  ter  get  worried  'bout  him. 
He  said  he  had  troubles  enough.  Wanted  ter 
know  if  I  could  n't  see  how  busy  he  wuz,  and 
fin'ly,  after  a  while,  told  how  he  had  ter  take 
a  run  down  ter  New  York  the  furst  thing  in 
the  mornin'." 

"'Coin'  ter  New  York/  ses  I,  with  tears 
rollin'  down  my  cheeks.  *  Ye  mean,  Jim  Case, 
that  ye  're  goin'  ter  the  lunatic  asylum.' 

"Wa'al,  sir,  when  I  came  to  from  a  faint,  he 
stood  there  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  a-holdin'  me 
in  his  arms.  And  then  fer  the  furst  time  he 
told  us  how  he  'd  accepted  an  invertation  ter 
go  ter  New  York.  Then  he  went  and  set  the 
alarm  clock  and  turned  inter  bed  so  's  ter  be 
up  and  ready  fer  the  8.50  train." 

"  Probably  he  's  putty  well  along  on  his  way 
by  this  time,"  said  Cal.  "The  boys '11  be 
a-wantin'  ter  hear  'im  tell  all  'bout  it  when  he 
gets  hum.  Got  some  nice  Onondaga  straw- 
berries in  this  mornin'  —  raised  over  on  the 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          139 

Potter  farm.  Old  Potter  ye  know  ez  a  good- 
'eal  like  Jim,  always  a-jokin',  and  when  I 
bought  these  berries  o'  him,"  Cal  put  his  hand 
up  to  the  side  of  his  mouth,  and,  leaning  for- 
ward, whispered  in  the  matron's  ear,  "he  told 
me  that  he  raised  berries  in  the  summer  and 
hell  in  the  winter." 

They  both  laughed  as  Cal  held  up  a  box  and 
Mrs.  Case  picked  off  the  largest  one.  Tasting 
of  it,  she  said,  "Guess  I  '11  take  a  box  seein' 
Jim  ain't  hum.  Ye  see  I  can't  have  'em  when 
he  's  here  'cause  they  don't  do  his  rheumatiz 
any  good.  Now,  let  me  see,"  she  added,  as 
she  looked  over  her  memorandum.  She  called 
off  the  articles  and  Cal  placed  them  in  her 
basket.  In  the  meantime  other  customers  had 
dropped  into  the  store.  Jim's  trip  to  New 
York  was  the  one  topic  of  their  conversation. 

The  following  Saturday  Jim  returned.  The 
news  had  got  about  and  the  crowd  which 
gathered  that  night  in  the  South  Hollow 
general  store  was  the  largest  assembly  since 
last  election.  They  began  to  arrive  soon  after 


I4o  OLD  JIM  CASE 

six  o'clock.  The  town  talk  throughout  the 
village  all  that  day  had  been,  "I  see  Jim  Case 
is  hum;  better  get  around  ter  Cal's  early 
ter-night  ter  hear  all  'bout  New  York  Town." 
When  Old  Jim  did  arrive,  every  hat  went 
up,  and  every  throat  yelled.  In  grateful 
acknowledgment  of  their  reception,  he  gave 
them  their  choice  of  a  plug  of  Battle  Ax  chew- 
ing tobacco  or  a  bag  of  peanuts.  At  the 
request  of  Cal  Hemmingway,  Jim  was  given 
three  formal  cheers.  When  this  ovation  was 
concluded,  the  Peanut  Squad  mustered  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  stove  while  the  Tobacco 
Brigade  made  a  flank  movement  to  the 
left  where  they  could  open  up  a  line  of  fire  at 
the  sawdust  box.  Old  Jim  turned  a  soap 
box  up  on  end  and  sat  down.  He  looked 
the  boys  all  over  as  he  stroked  his  long  mous- 
tache and  filled  his  pipe  full  of  Bull  Durham. 
Then  he  began  to  puff  lustily.  He  crossed  his 
legs  so  his  left  elbow  could  rest  on  his  knee 
and  give  him  just  the  right  distance  to  swing 
his  pipe  to  and  from  his  mouth  between  puffs. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  141 

"I  don't  hardly  know  where  ter  commence 
after  seem'  so  much,"  said  Jim,  "but  when  the 
train  pulled  outer  the  station  me  and  my  two 
friends  were  a-settin'  in  green  plush  chairs 
that  come  way  up  ter  the  back  o'  our  heads, 
and  smokin'  Flora  de  Flim  Flam  se-gars,  er 
somethin'  like  that.  I  saved  the  gilt  band  on 
mine  and  my  friends  gave  me  theirn,  so  I  have 
got  three  here  in  my  tobaccer  box."  Every- 
one in  the  store  craned  his  neck  to  see  the 
largest  and  most  elaborate  cigar  bands  ever 
shown  in  or  about  South  Hollow. 

"And  ter  think  them  se-gars  cost  a  quarter  o* 
a  dollar  a-piece.  As  fur  as  I  'm  concerned, 
I  'd  a  darned  sight  ruther  have  Cal's  Golden 
Bucks  fer  a  nickel  straight.  They  sell  'urn- 
selves;  don't  need  no  gilt  bands." 

This  was  the  sentiment  of  all  those  present. 
Old  Jim  paused  while  a  drummer  from  the 
city  offered  to  buy  Golden  Bucks  for  the 
crowd. 

Cal  Hemmingway  opened  the  glass  show- 
case, pulled  out  the  box  with  the  familiar 


i42  OLD  JIM  CASE 

label,  held  it  up,  blew  the  dust  off;  and 
around  they  went. 

After  all  who  cared  to  smoke  had  lighted  up, 
Jim  continued: 

"While  my  friends  were  in  the  leetle  smokin' 
room,  the  coloured  porter  happened  in  there 
too,  and  the  boys  commenced  ter  tell,  as  a 
sort  of  a  joke,  so  that  he  might  overhear  'em, 
how  extravagant  /  wuz.  One  of  'em  said  that 
while  we  were  at  the  hut-tel  he  saw  me  give 
a  five-dollar  bill  ter  the  waiter.  'Yes,'  said 
the  other,  'he  gave  two  silver  dollars  ter  the 
boy  who  carried  his  satchel  down  ter  the 
station.'  It  wuz  a  sight  for  them  ter  see 
that  coloured  gentleman  prick  up  his  ears 
and  take  it  all  in.  A  little  later  he  came 
up  ter  me  with  a  big,  long  brush,  and  com- 
menced operations.  He  brushed  me  the  hul 
length  o'  the  tunnel  comin'  inter  New  York. 
He  wiped  off  my  boots,  cleaned  my  overshoes, 
and  insisted  on  carryin'  all  my  bundles.  I  '11 
be  blamed  if  I  ever  had  so  much  attention  in 
all  my  life;  felt  as  though  I  wuz  a  millionaire 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  143 

ridin'  on  a  pass.  As  I  left  the  car  I  jest 
dropped  a  nice,  red  apple  inter  his  pocket,  and, 
by  Ginger!  I  told  him  if  he  ever  came  ter 
South  Hollow,  I  'd  try  and  do  as  much  fer 
'im  in  return.  I  could  n't  see  why  he  took 
sech  a  likin'  ter  me  until  my  friends  told  me 
'bout  the  joke  afterward.  Ye  see,  he  must 
a-thought  that  I  had  what  Old  Dave  Slocum 
used  ter  call  spender itis  —  said  his  boy  always 
come  down  with  it  every  time  he  went  ter  the 
city,  and  the  fever  'ud  last  sometimes  until 
he  'd  spent  and  given  away  all  his  money." 

Here  the  conversation  halted  long  enough 
to  allow  Cal  Hemmingway  to  attend  to  the 
wants  of  a  waiting  customer.  Then  Jim 
resumed  his  story. 

"When  we  arrived  in  New  York  the  furst 
place  we  went  ter  wuz  the  Waldorf-Astoria. 
It 's  a  hut-tel  as  big  as  Onondaga  Hill  —  why, 
it  could  hold  all  South  Hollow,  Cedarville, 
Navarino,  and  the  hull  darn  Indian  Reserva- 
tion at  once.  We  put  straight  fer  the  dinin* 
room,  or,  as  they  called  it,  the  Palm  Room. 


144  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Ye  'd  think,  boys,  that  ye  were  in  the  Garden 
o*  Eden.  My  friends  started  in  orderin* 
oysters  and  celery  and  olives  and  sech,  and 
thinkin'  that  wuz  all  we  wuz  goin'  ter  get  I 
jest  spoke  right  up  and  told  'em  that  I  wuz 
hungry  and  wanted  some  meat  and  pertatoes. 
They  asked  me  what  kind  o'  pertatoes  I 
wanted,  and  I  told  'em  the  Early  Rose  would  do. 
I  don't  jest  believe  that  waiter  knowed  what 
I  meant  by  the  way  he  acted.  Wa'al,  we  had 
plenty  o'  dinner  before  we  got  through,  and  then 
we  all  went  over  ter  a  place  they  called  a  roof 
garden,  where  they  'd  a  Hungarian  orchestra 
a-playin'.  My  friends  bein'  fond  o'  music 
treated  the  leader  and  all  the  musicians,  so 
they  'd  play  anythin'  they  wanted  'em  to. 
Finally  my  friend  called  the  leader  over  and 
told  'im  ter  play  what  I  wanted,  so  I  jest  told 
'im  ter  rattle  off  Money  Musk,  that  that  wuz 
good  enough  fer  me.  The  feller  looked  kind 
o*  worried-like,  lifted  his  shoulders,  wrinkled 
his  forehead,  and  sayin'  somethin'  in  a  foreign 
tongue,  walked  away.  Guess,  p'rhaps,  I  'd 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          145 

stumped  'im,  boys,  'cause  he  did  nt  play 
it." 

Hiram  Wilcox  said,  with  a  yawn,  "  It 's 
funny  how  they  '11  put  up  with  a  feller  down 
in  New  York  that  would  n't  do  fer  us  up  here 
in  South  Hollow." 

"Wa'al,  the  next  mornin',"  continued  Old 
Jim,  "I  got  up  'bout  six  o'clock,  jest  like  I 
always  do,  and  I  walked  down  'bout  fifteen 
flights  o'  stairs  ter  the  office.  The  only  man 
I  saw  when  I  got  there  wuz  a  big  feller  wearin* 
a  blue  jumper.  He  come  up  ter  me  and  asked 
a  lot  o'  questions.  Wanted  ter  know  if  I  had 
any  baggage,  and  what  train  I  wuz  goin'  on. 
I  told  him  he  'd  better  learn  ter  mind  his  own 
business  or  he  might  get  reported  ter  Mr. 
Waldorf.  He  walked  away  without  sayin* 
another  word  when  he  saw  that  I  wuz  on 
ter  him. 

"Wa'al,  sir,  I  walked  up  and  down  what  the 
boys  call  Peacock  Alley.  I  must  'a'  walked 
at  least  five  miles,  as  they  did  n't  come  down 
until  'bout  ten  o'clock,  and  all  that  time  I  '11 


146  OLD  JIM  CASE 

be  blamed  if  I  see  a  person  that  I  knowed  or 
that  knowed  me. 

"After  breakfast  my  friends  asked  if  I 
wanted  ter  walk  down  ter  the  Battery  er  ride, 
and  I  told  'em  p'rhaps  I  could  see  the  town 
better  if  I  walked,  so  we  started.  Every  big 
buildin'  that  we  'd  come  ter  I  'd  ask  if  that  wuz 
the  postoffice,  till  they  promised  they  'd  tell  me 
when  we  come  ter  it.  At  Fourteenth  Street 
my  shoes  commenced  ter  pinch  a  leetle  and  I 
asked  if  we  were  n't  putty  near  there.  They 
jest  answered  me  a-sayin'  that  when  we 
turned  inter  Broadway  Street  again  we  'd 
see  green  fields,  but  when  we  did,  I  looked 
straight  fer  miles  and  could  jest  see  rows 
o'  tall  buildin's,  so  I  told  'em  if  Jt  were  n't 
too  expensive  I  thought  I  'd  ruther  ride, 
so  we  went  over  ter  the  Avenue  and  took 
the  'air  line,'  or  what  ye  'd  call  the  elevated 
railroad. 

"  I  wuz  jest  crazy  when  I  saw  that  aquarium 
and  all  them  fish.  They  'd  got  everything 
from  a  cisco  ter  a  sea-horse.  The  boys  jest 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  147 

had  ter  drag  me  away,  or  I  '11  bet  I  'd  a-stayed 
there  till  time  ter  come  back  hum." 

Jim  shifted  the  soap  box  a  bit,  while  Hiram 
Wilcox  reached  up,  turned  down  a  smoking 
lamp  overhead,  and  cut  off  a  fresh  piece  of 
plug. 

"Wa'al,"  said  Jim,  "when  we  got  back  ter 
the  Farmers'  Exchange,  as  one  o'  my  friends 
always  called  the  Waldorf-Astoria,  they  found 
an  inver-tation  ter  dinner  ter  be  given  by  their 
friend,  Charles  Squab,  and  they  seemed  kind 
o'  puzzled  ter  know  jest  what  ter  do  with  me, 
but  as  luck  would  have  it,  it  happened  that 
while  we  were  a-talkin'  the  matter  over, 
Mr.  Squab  came  along  and  they  got  ter  talkin' 
with  'im,  and  my  friend  had  an  idee  which 
he  sprung  then  and  there.  'Squab,'  said  he, 
'd'  ye  know  who  that  old  codger  is  over  there  ? ' 
I  turned  my  head  the  other  way,  'cause  he 
wuz  a-pointin'  his  finger  straight  at  me. 
*  Wa'al,  that 's  Jim  Case,'  I  beared  him  say, 
and  then  he  added, 'What  ye  ask  who  Jim 
Case  is  ?  Did  n't  know  Jim  Case!  Jim  Case 


148  OLD  JIM  CASE 

of  Montana,  the  multi-millionaire !  Jim  Case, 
the  Copper  King!' 

"When  he  said  all  this  I  commenced  ter 
get  nervous.  Squab  scratched  his  head  and 
my  friend  went  on.  'Don't  ye  read  the 
papers  ?  Where  have  ye  ben  fer  the  last  six 
months  —  in  a  trance  ? ' 

"Squab  finally  admitted  that  he  had  no 
doubt  read  of  Jim  Case,  and  that  the  name  did 
sound  kind  o'  familiar.  Then  my  friend  sort 
o'  took  Mr.  Squab  by  the  shoulder  and  led  him 
ter  a  corner  behind  a  big  pillar,  and  said  in  a 
very  low  whisper,  'We  're  goin'  ter  let  ye  in  on 
somethin'.  What  if  I  should  tell  ye  that 
papers  will  be  passed  by  ter-morrow  noon  that 
give  us  one-half  interest  in  the  Jim  Case 
Copper  Mines  ?  Ye  see  that  's  what  we  're 
here  in  New  York  fer,  and  that 's  why  Jim  Case 
is  here,  to  close  the  deal.' 

"Deal!  I  thought,  What  the  devil  is  he 
a-goin'  ter  do  with  me  ?  I  listened  and 
beared  him  say,  'If  this  property  is  worth  a 
cent,  it 's  worth  a  billion  dollars.  This  Jim 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          149 

Case  is  a  queer  old  chap  —  don't  care  much 
fer  money  —  and  he  '11  agree  ter  most  anythin*. 
We  're  ter  have  a  stock  company,  with  a 
capital  oj  five  hundred  million  dollars.  We 
give  him  forty  million  dollars  in  cash  and 
sixty  million  dollars  in  preferred  stock,  makin' 
a  total  o'  one  hundred  million  dollars.'  When 
he  said  that  I  turned  ter  one  side,  fumbled 
in  my  vest  pocket  and  put  back  the  gilt  band 
on  my  twenty-five  cent  cigar.  My  pardner 
went  on,  *  We  have  already  made  arrangements 
with  a  Trust  Company  who  have  agreed  ter 
underwrite  the  required  bonds.' 

"As  he  said  this,  he  shoved  both  hands  in 
his  hip  pockets  and  leaned  back  like  a  bank 
president. 

"After  this  my  friends  and  Charlie  Squab 
sauntered  along  Peacock  Alley  and  turned 
inter  the  restaurant.  Then  they  sat  down  at 
a  table  with  some  other  financial  magnates 
that  were  friends  of  Squab,  and  my  friend  told 
the  story  over  again,  addin'  some.  By  this 
time  everybody  wanted  ter  get  in  on  the  ground 


150  OLD  JIM  CASE 

floor.  He  showed  'urn  how  they  could  earn 
two  hundred  per  cent,  annually,  and  when 
the  party  broke  up,  everybody  wuz  jest  crazy 
ter  meet  this  man  Jim  Case,  the  result  bein' 
that  I  wuz  introduced  and  invited  ter  be  the 
guest  o'  honour  at  Charlie  Squab's  dinner. 
When  I  said  I  did  n't  have  no  festive  clothes, 
they  told  me  I  could  come  jest  as  I  wuz.  So, 
boys,  I  went,  the  understandin'  bein'  that  no 
business  wuz  ter  be  talked  durin'  the  evenin'. 
That  wuz  so  I  would  n't  have  ter  answer 
questions.  All  I  had  ter  do  wuz  ter  refer  ter 
Montana  and  the  mines  ruther  than  South 
Hollow  and  Onondaga  Hill.  I  told  a  few 
stories  that  seemed  ter  amuse  'em,  and  picked 
up  a  few  new  ones  that  I  brought  hum  to  you 
boys. 

"After  dinner  we  all  went  ter  the  show,  I 
bein'  given  the  front  seat  in  the  box.  Between 
the  acts  our  party  would  walk  out  and  meet 
friends  and  tell  'em  this  minin'  story  and  then 
point  ter  me.  'That 's  Jim  Case  in  the  furst 
box,'  ye  'd  hear  'em  tell  their  friends. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          151 

Blamed  if  I  did  n't  seem  ter  be  of  more  import- 
ance than  the  actors,  and  everybody  jest  stared 
at  me,  I  kin  tell  ye.  Finally  the  news  spread 
behind  the  scenes,  and  when  the  popular  song 
man  come  out,  he  sung: 

"'There's  Jim  Case  from  Butte,  Montana, 
Who  never  brags  nor  hollers, 
But  owns  a  copper  mine,  they  say, 
Worth  forty  million  dollars.' 

"The  song  made  a  great  hit,  boys,  and  don't 
ye  forget  it.  After  the  show  a  crowd  of  people 
waited  outside  ter  see  me  come  out.  They 
hurried  me  inter  a  carriage  and  drove  ter  a 
restaurant  on  Broadway  Street,  where  we  had 
supper.  The  story  followed  me  there  and  I  '11 
be  blamed  if  people  did  n't  pay  fancy  prices 
ter  the  head  waiter  ter  get  a  table  next  ter  Jim 
Case,  the  Copper  King." 

Jim  leaned  back  and  threw  out  his  broad 
chest,  pointed  his  finger  at  himself,  and 
repeated,  "Jim  Case,  the  Copper  King! 
That 's  me,  boys,  that 's  me! 

"The  next  mornin'  when  I  came  down  all 


152  OLD  JIM  CASE 

the  boys  in  that  hut-tel  were  a-hollerin*  out 
my  name.  Ye  could  hear  their  voices  ringin' 
in  all  directions. 

"Listen  fellers,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  around 
the  store.  They  were  all  staring  at  him  and 
taking  in  every  word  of  his  story.  :<Jest 
think  of  it;  while  I  wuz  havin'  breakfast  my 
mail  wuz  brought  in  —  over  fifty  letters! 
Hear  that,  Cal,  over  fifty!  I  '11  bet  that 's 
more  'n  ye  get  out  o'  yer  old  mail  bag  in  a  hull 
week,  ain't  it?" 

Before  Cal  had  a  chance  to  make  an  indig- 
nant reply,  Jim  went  on,"  And  what  d'  ye  think, 
they  were,  all  business  schemes,  proposals  o* 
marriage,  and  hard  luck  stories  callin'  fer  help. 

"Wa'al,  after  breakfast  I  wuz  told  that 
about  twenty  people  were  a-waitin'  in  a  red 
room  ter  see  me  on  important  business.  Boys, 
that  wuz  too  much  fer  yer  Old  Uncle  Jim,  so 
I  got  my  friends  together  and  told  'em  that 
the  joke  had  gone  too  fur,  but  they  said  I  'd 
have  ter  play  it  out  until  we  left  New  York, 
and  so  when  the  train  pulled  out  that  night, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          153 

I  stood  on  the  rear  platform,  a-sayin'  good  bye 
ter  hundreds  o'  curious  people  who  were  all 
a-rubberin'  at  me." 

Old  Jim  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  hit  his 
pipe  bowl  on  the  heel  of  his  boot.  "Wa'al," 
he  muttered,  "I  'm  glad  it  Js  all  over  and  I  'm 
back,  fer  I  'd  a  darned  sight  ruther  be  Jim 
Case  right  here  in  South  Hollow  with  you 
fellers  than  ta  be  Jim  Case,  the  Copper 
King,  at  the  Waldorf-Astoria,  with  them 
millionaires." 


CHAPTER  XII 

HIRAM  WILCOX   VISITS    OLD   JIM  CASE 

ONE  day  it  was  reported  "around  town" 
that  Old  Jim  was  "a  little  off  the 
hooks."  As  he  had  been  absent  from  Cal 
Hemmingway's  store  for  several  days,  the 
proof  of  his  indisposition  was  absolute.  There 
was  "a  kind  of  lonesomeness,"  as  Cal 
expressed  it,  among  the  regular  sitters.  When 
Hiram  Wilcox  volunteered  to  go  and  see  Jim 
and  try  to  cheer  him  up  a  bit,  everybody 
chipped  in  and  bought  a  bag  of  oranges  for 
Hiram  to  take  with  him  to  the  invalid. 

When  Hiram  reached  the  house,  he  found 
that  Jim  was  sick  abed.  As  he  entered  the 
room,  he  said,  "Wa'al,  so  ye  're  a  leetle  off 
yer  feed,  eh?  Ben  eatin'  somethin'  p'rhaps 
that  hain't  sot  jest  right.  I  told  the  boys  ye  'd 
overdo  if  they  did  n't  stop  a-settin'  out  that 

154 


OLD  JIM  CASE  155 

free  lunch  over  't  the  tavern;  told  'em  ye  *d 
take  anythin'  that  wuz  bein'  given  away,  from 
pickles  and  crackers  ter  measles." 

Jim  Case  turned  over  in  bed,  readjusted  his 
pillows,  and  said,  "How  be  ye,  Hiram? 
How  's  all  the  boys  and  things  down  ta  Cal's  ?" 

"Oh,  goin'  'bout  the  same,  only  we've 
missed  ye  a  lot,  and  Cal  Hemmingway  is 
certainly  losin'  his  mind.  Sez  he  's  goin'  ter 
join  them  spiritualist  folks  —  them  what 's 
holdin'  meetin's  every  Tuesday  over  at  Widder 
Wetherby's.  Must  be  eight  or  ten  that 
belong  now,  and  they  're  the  craziest  set  ye 
ever  seen.  Say  that  they  kin  hear  spirit 
rappin's  and  have  slate  writin's  and  sech. 
Why,  the  Widder  come  over  ter  our  house 
night  before  last  and  brought  a  slate  with  some 
writin'  on  it.  She  wuz  all  ex-cited  and  asked 
me  if  I  knowed  whose  writin'  't  wuz.  I  said, 
'No,  I  did  n't  recognise  the  writin'.'  'Don't 
recognise  it,'  said  she,  kind  o*  mad-like. 
'Why,  Hiram  Wilcox,  ye  ought  ter  be  ashamed 
o*  yerself.  Ye  don't  know  that  writin'? 


I56  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Why,  it 's  a  message  from  your  father/ 
'Wa'al,'  sez  I  ter  her,  'if  that 's  my  father's 
writin',  he  must  V  improved  like  the  devil 
durin'  the  last  twenty  years  that  he  's  ben 
dead/" 

Jim  laughed  himself  nearly  into  convulsions. 

"As  I  said,"  continued  Hiram,  "Cal  's  got 
it  too.  Jest  sits  'round  all  day  readin'  them 
spirit  books  and  don't  pay  no  attention  ter 
the  store  at  all.  Keeps  talkin'  about  this 
wonderful  spirit-medium  who  goes  inter  a 
trance  and  sees  things." 

Hiram  leaned  forward  and,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  whisper,  said, "  She  saw  the  Widder's 
husband  t'  other  night;  so  Cal  sez." 

"What's  that  ye  say?  She  saw  Lem 
Wetherby's  spirit?" 

"Wa'al,  that's  what  Cal  sez,  and  what 's 
more,  she  told  the  very  day  't  he  died.  What 
d'  ye  think  o'  that?" 

"Think!  Don't  think  nothin',  only  that 
Cal  Hemmingway  an'  the  rest  on  'em  are  a 
lot  of  ninnies.  In  the  furst  place,  Hiram, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          157 

this  'ere  woman  's  ben  a-hangin'  around  the 
village  fer  about  three  weeks,  and  the  proba- 
bilities be  that  she  got  that  date  off  o'  the  tomb- 
stone that  I  put  up  at  his  grave.  That 's 
easy  enough,  hain't  it  ? " 

"Wa'al,"  said  Hiram,  straightening  up. 
"Who  'd  'a'  ever  'a'  thought  o'  that!" 

"Oh,  nobody  around  this  town  'ceptin*  me 
and  the  Madam,"  Old  Jim  answered,  rather 
sarcastically,  and  then  added,  "This  woman 
is  the  same  medium  what  stayed  all  summer 
over  ta  Fletcher's  a  couple  o'  years  ago.  They 
live  over  Onondaga  Hill  way,  between  Quig- 
ley's  place  and  Mud  Lake.  She  agreed  ter  pay 
'um  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  a  week  fer  her 
board  an'  lodgin',  and  seein',  while  she  wuz 
there,  they  could  communicate  with  the 
departed,  especially  their  boy,  why  they 
decided  ter  let  her  stay;  but  when  she  got 
ready  ter  leave  and  offered  ta  pay  what  she 
owed  'um,  why  the  spirits,  so  Fletcher  sez 
wrote  on  the  slate  'Take  no  money  from  the 
medium."  Course  Fletcher  hain't  ben  around 


158  OLD  JIM  CASE 

much  and  he  thinks  when  a  person  looks  real 
serious  that  they  're  always  honest  and  sincere, 
but  you  an'  me  know  how  that 's  generally  the 
time  they  need  the  most  watchin'." 

Then  Jim  inquired,  "Wuz  there  anythin' 
else  't  she  did?" 

"Yes;  she  told  frow  Lem  Wetherby  wuz 
right  there  in  the  room,  only  in  spirit  form,  and 
how  if  the  Widder  'd  only  have  faith  and  keep 
contributin'  a  little  each  week  that  in  a  short 
time  she  'd  be  able  ter  see  'im  herself.  Jim, 
she  got  the  Widder  all  worked  up  and  a-cryin* 
like  a  baby." 

"Cryin'  probably  ter  think  he  wuz  a-comin* 
back.  She  did  n't  take  on  so  much  when  he 
passed  away.  Beats  all  how  ye  kin  see  any- 
thin'  ye  want  ter  in  this  world  or  the  next  as 
long  as  ye  got  the  right  disposition  and  the 
spondoolicks." 

Hiram  laughed  at  Jim's  cold-blooded 
remarks,  and  combing  his  fingers  through  his 
whiskers,  said,  "Cal  told  me  about  one  bad 
mistake  that  she  made." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  159 

"What  wuz  that  ?"  asked  Old  Jim,  smooth- 
ing out  the  patch  quilt. 

Hiram  was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear  when  he 
replied,  "She  started  in  ter  describe  Lem,  and 
spoke  about  his  havin'  lovely  red  whiskers, 
when  the  Widder  bawled  out  between  sobs, 
'Why  Lemuel  could  n't  ever  raise  a  beard.* 
Cal  wuz  a-tellin'  how  that  remark  nearly 
broke  up  the  meetin',  but  he  still  thinks  there  's 
a  somethin'  't  he  can't  explain  about  it,  and 
when  he  gets  a-thinkin'  it  over  he  gets  sort  o' 
absent  minded.  Fer  instance,  last  Monday 
night  Potter's  boy  came  in  fer  a  quart  o'  seed 
beans.  Cal  took  the  order  and  went  ter  get 
'em.  Putty  soon  he  came  back  and  told  the 
boy  that  he  'd  have  ter  take  some  other  kind 
o'  seed  'cause  the  cat  wuz  sleepin'  in  the  bean 
barrel  and  he  wuz  n't  a-goin'  ter  disturb  her 
fer  no  five-cent  sale.  After  some  arguin'  the 
boy  took  a  package  o'  tomato  seeds  and  went 
out,  grumblin'  ter  himself  that  nobody  hum 
liked  tomatoes,  but  he  s'posed  they  'd  be  better 
than  nuthin',  and  then  he  said,  with  a  sort  o' 


160  OLD  JIM  CASE 

silly  grin  as  he  looked  over  at  me, '  P'rhaps  we 
kin  work  'em  off  on  company." 

"Beats  all,"  said  Jim,  "what  a  likin*  Cal 
has  got  fer  that  old  Maltese  cat.  But  say 
Hiram,  who  wuz  it  that 's  got  the  village  all 
tinctured  up  with  this  spirit  business,  anyway?" 

"I  dunno,"  replied  Hiram,  tipping  his  chair 
back,  while  he  straightened  out  the  rug  from 
beneath  the  legs.  "There's  this  woman 
what 's  runnin'  the  thing,  and  she  's  got  'em 
all  luney.  Some  say  that  Old  Timothy  Sal- 
mon is  a-kind  o'  sparkin'  up  ter  her,  and  there 
may  be  some  truth  in  it,  'cause  he  put  up  five 
dollars  towards  gettin'  her  ter  stay  another 
week.  I  guess  he  's  thinkin'  that  p'rhaps  she 
kin  bring  back  the  spirits  o'  some  dead  ones 
that  departed  this  life  a-owin'  him  somethin'." 

"Don't  doubt  it  fer  a  minute,"  said  Jim. 
"Beats  the  very  devil  how  Old  Salmon  '11 
follow  a  feller  that  owes  him  money.  Won't 
even  stop  at  the  grave.  S'pose  ye  heared 
'bout  him  tryin'  ter  squeeze  poor  Orlie 
Sprague,  did  n't  ye  ? " 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  161 

"No,  don't  know  as  I  did.  Seems  ye  get 
more  real  news  a-lyin'  here  in  bed  than  I  do 
out  'round  the  village." 

"Wa'al,  I'll  tell  ye,"  continued  Jim. 
"  'T  wuz  like  this.  Some  time  ago  when  things 
wuz  flourishin'  and  Orlie  Sprague  wuz  about 
the  most  likely  farmer  'round  here,  the  bank 
had  a  lot  o'  money  that  wuz  n't  workin',  and 
its  president,  the  Honourable  Timothy  Salmon, 
wuz  a-schemin'  all  sorts  o'  ways  ter  get  it  out 
at  interest.  It  happened  'bout  this  time  that 
Orlie  Sprague  came  ter  town  ter  get  his  harness 
fixed,  and  by  chance  met  the  Honourable 
Timothy  Salmon,  who  wuz  more  n'  nice  ter 
him  —  even  took  him  up  ter  his  house  ter 
dinner  —  and  durin'  their  conversation  he 
asked  Orlie  why  he  did  n't  branch  out  a  leetle, 
and  told  him  how  he  'd  been  a  good,  prosper- 
ous farmer,  but  that  he  wuz  doin'  things  on  a 
small  scale  and  'ought  ter  bore  with  a  bigger 
auger,'  as  he  put  it.  Said  he  ought  ter  buy 
the  adjoinin'  farm  and  work  'em  both,  and 
that  if  he  did  he  Jd  make  twice  as  much  money. 


1 62  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Orlie  knowed  that  farm  wuz  twenty  acres  and 
Salmon  told  him  how  he  could  buy  if  fer  rive 
hundred  dollars.  Guess  he  fergot  ter  tell  him 
how  the  bank  already  had  a  loan  on  it  and  the 
present  farmer  wuz  n't  even  able  ter  pay  the 
interest.  Orlie  allowed  that  it  did  sound 
good,  but  said  he  did  n't  have  the  ready 
money.  Then  the  Honourable  Timothy 
Salmon,  banker  and  public  benefactor,  rubbed 
his  hands  tergether  and  told  him,  in  the  most 
benevolent  way,  that  the  bank  would  gladly 
loan  him  the  money  on  his  note,  and  so  in  a 
few  days  Orlie  Sprague  had  purchased  the 
next  farm  by  a-borrowin*  the  money  at 
Timothy  Salmon's  bank." 

Jim  paused  long  enough  to  give  the  old, 
brass-bound  clock  in  the  hall  a  chance  to 
strike  the  hour,  and  then  went  on. 

"Wa'al,  ye  see  things  went  along  in  the 
usual  way  till  here  t'  other  day.  Money 
tightened  up  and  the  bank  could  get  better 
returns  by  sendin'  it  ter  the  city.  'T  wuz  at 
this  time  that  poor  Orlie  opened  his  mail  and 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  163 

found  a  letter  askin'  him  ter  come  ter  South 
Hollow  at  once,  that  the  Honourable  Timothy 
Salmon  wanted  ter  see  him  at  the  bank. 
Orlie  hitched  up  Dolly  and  drove  in  the  next 
mornin'  and  wuz  told  that  his  demand  note 
must  be  paid  in  full  within  five  days." 

"Wuz  n't  in-vited  up  ter  Salmon's  house  ter 
dinner  this  time,  wuz  he  ?"  asked  Hiram,  with 
a  grin. 

"No,"  returned  Jim;  "I  guess  the  free 
lunch  over  at  the  tavern  would  've  satisfied 
him  that  day,  'cause  his  appetite  wuz  n't  jest 
up  ter  snuff. 

"Wa'al,  hearin'  I  wuz  sick  he  come  over 
here  ter  the  house  ter  see  how  I  wuz  a-gettin' 
on,  and  I  could  tell  by  the  way  he  acted  that 
there  wuz  more  on  his  mind  than  there  wuz  in 
his  stomach.  He  'd  be  a-talkin'  and  at  the 
same  time  a-starin'  up  at  the  ceilin',  furst 
a-sittin'  in  one  chair  and  then  a-shiftin'  ter 
another. 

"Finally  I  sez,  'Orlie,  what's  up?  Any- 
thin'  gone  wrong?  Furst  he  sez  'No,'  at  the 


1 64  OLD  JIM  CASE 

same  time  tryin'  ter  choke  back  the  lump  that 
riz  in  his  throat,  and  turned  his  head,  appearin* 
ter  be  lookin'  out  o'  the  window. 

* '  Orlie,'  sez  I  again,  '  there  's  somethin'  on 
yer  mind  and  ye  Ve  got  ter  cough  it  up/ 
When  I  said  that,  he  broke  down  and  told  me 
the  hull  story." 

"Wa'al,  I'll  be  danged,"  said  Hiram. 
"Old  Salmon  likes  ter  profit  by  other  folks's 
misfortunes,  don't  he  ?  What  Jd  he  finally 
do 'bout  it?" 

Jim  hesitated  for  a  minute  with  an  embar- 
rassment in  his  face  that  was  almost  a  blush. 
"I  didn't  intend  ter  tell  y'u  that,  butify'u 
must  know,  why  I  jest  went  down  in  my  sock, 
as  the  feller  sez,  and  dug  out  the  money  fer 
him.  At  furst  he  would  n't  take  it,  but  I  told 
him  he  'd  got  ter  and  that  he  could  go  over 
and  tell  the  Honourable  Timothy  Salmon  that 
while  Jim  Case  wuz  criticised  by  the  Church 
folks  'cause  he  did  n't  put  his  name  down  on 
the  subscription  list  fer  money  ter  be  sent  ter 
the  Foreign  Mission,  that  he  did  have  a  leetle 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  165 

on  hand  ter  spare  ter  help  a  friend  at  home 
when  he  wuz  squeezed  by  the  bank  president 
who  willingly  headed  the  list  ter  help  the 
heathens.  'Tell  him,'  sez  I,  'that 't  wuz  more 
satisfyin'  ter  me  ter  be  in  shape  ter  help  an 
honest  but  unfortunate  neighbour/ 

"Wa'al,  I  tell  ye  he  wuz  grateful,  Hiram 
ye  ought  ter  a-seen  him;  his  face  lighted  up 
with  a  smile  that  seemed  ter  shine  through  his 
trouble  like  a  bit  o'  sunshine  on  a  rainy  day. 
As  he  stood  in  the  door  tryin'  ter  say  good  bye, 
I  said,  '  Orlie,  it 's  darned  easy  ter  borrow  an 
umbrella  from  a  friend  when  the  sun  is 
a-shinin',  but  when  it  commences  ter  cloud  up 
and  looks  like  rain  and  when  ye  need  it  most, 
yer  friend  is  putty  toler-ble  apt  ter  want  it 
back.  There  5s  a  lot  o'  folks  like  Old  Timothy 
Salmon,  always  bein'  mighty  free  with  their 
advice  and  a-tellin'  what  ye  'd  better  be  a-doin' 
but  I  've  learned  how  ter  let  'em  talk  and  ter 
pay  no  attention  to  'em,  fer  I  've  noticed  that 
generally  the  ones  who  're  a-tellin'  me,  ain't 
fixed  no  better  off  'n  I  be.  Ye  know,  Hiram, 


1 66  OLD  JIM  CASE 

there  hain't  nothin'  much  what  come  free 
that 's  worth  takin',  and  ye  don't  want  ter  do 
everythin'  what  folks  be  a-tellin'  ye  ter  do. 
Jest  figure  things  out  fer  yerself,  and  then 
stick  ta  'em." 

Hiram  agreed  that  Jim  was  right,  and  after 
expressing  his  sympathy  for  Orlie  Sprague 
and  commenting  upon  Jim's  generosity,  he 
said, "  Wa'al,  Jim,  guess  I  ought  ter  be  a-goin', 
but  I  '11  call  agin  sure,  fer  it  must  be  kind  o' 
lonesome  fer  ye  layin'  here  all  day  long.  Has 
anybody  else  ben  over  ter  see  ye  ? " 

"Yes,"  responded  Jim,  as  he  turned  over 
on  his  back,  with  a  far  away  look  in  his  eyes. 
"Yes,  Elmer  Perkins,  the  undertaker,  come  in 
yisterday,  and  we  had  a  sort  o'  a  pleasant  visit. 
But  one  thing,  Hiram,"  here  Jim's  voice 
became  a  husky  whisper, "  Hiram,"  he  repeated 
hoarsely,  "that  damned  Perkins  carried  a  yard 
stick  instead  of  a  cane,  and  now,  Hiram, 
honest  Injun,  don't  ye  think  it 's  goin'  a  leetle 
too  far  fer  an  undertaker  ter  call  on  a  sick 
man  and  bring  a  yard-stick?  I  asked  him 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  167 

how  business  wuz,  and  he  sez,  in  a  kind  o' 
longin'  sort  o'  way,  that  he  had  n't  had  a 
funeral  in  over  a  year." 

Among  the  many  antiques  that  made  Jim's 
room  attractive  was  an  old-fashioned  mahog- 
any sideboard  with  claw  feet  and  glass 
knobs,  and  when  Hiram's  eyes  fell  upon  it,  he 
arose  and  walked  over  to  give  it  closer  inspec- 
tion. "  By  cracky,  Jim,  it 's  a  wonder  ter  me 
that  some  oj  them  collectors  hain't  a-gobbled 
up  that  'ere  piece  before  now." 

"That 's  what  we  fetched  it  upstairs  fer, 
so  's  they  could  n't  see  it;  got  ter  botherin' 
us  ter  death,  them  what  beared  about  it. 
Dare  n't  tell  y'u  what  they  've  offered,  but  we 
would  n't  part  with  that  piece  of  furniture  no 
more  'n  we  'd  part  with  one  o'  the  children. 
It 's  more  'n  two  hundred  years  old  that  we 
know  of;  used  ter  belong  ter  Old  Colonel 
Harwood,  back  in  the  forties.  They  say  he 
used  ter  be  quite  a  feller  fer  takin'  a  nip,  and 
that  he  kept  all  his  liquid  joy  in  that  lower 
cupboard,  and  I  guess  p'rhaps  it 's  so,  fer  the 


1 68  OLD  JIM  CASE 

catch  on  that  right  door  has  been  used  so  much 
in  times  gone  by  that  every  now  and  then  it 
flies  open  of  its  own  accord,  and  when  I  hear 
it,  I  always  sez  to  myself,  'there  goes  the 
Colonel  fer  another  drink/* 

"S'pose  y'u  know  'bout  the  village  con- 
stable, Jim  Callaway,  joinin'  another  secret 
society  ? " 

"Y'u  don't  say!  Thought  he  belonged  ta 
about  everythin'  goin';  wears  emblems  enough 
now  ter  make  him  round-shouldered;  wuz 
a-tellin'  me  how  he  could  n't  take  time  ter 
change  his  vest,  'cause  it'ud  take  about  all 
day  ter  transfer  his  badges." 

"Wa'al,  he  's  up  and  done  it,"  said  Hiram, 
"jest  as  I  'm  a-tellin'  y'u;  went  over  ter  the 
city  ter  take  the  initiation  and  come  back  hum 
with  a  new  button  and  a  jag.  Sez  he  's  a 
full-fledged  member  o'  the  T.  U.  A.  P.  of  M., 
—  sez  it  means  The  Upliftin'  and  Preservation 
o'  Mankind." 

"Wa'al,  all  I  got  ter  say,"  replied  Jim,  "is 
that  if  he  keeps  a-joinin'  things,  he  '11  have  ter 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  169 

carry  his  pins  and  buttons  on  a  banner,  'cause 
the  last  time  I  see  Jim  Callaway  it  wuz  over 
ter  the  meetin'  o'  the  Hose  Company  and  then 
he  wuz  a-wearin'  everythin'  from  a  Grand 
Army  pin  ter  his  sheriff's  badge,  and  the 
probabilities  be  that  he  took  that  office  jest 
so  's  ter  wear  the  tin  star  marked  'special/  ' 

After  they  had  passed  their  jokes  back  and 
forth  and  talked  over  what  was  left  of  the  town 
news,  Jim  grew  serious,  for  it  was  his  firm 
belief  whenever  he  was  taken  ill  that  he  was 
surely  going  to  die.  He  lifted  himself  up  so 
that  he  could  rest  by  leaning  on  one  elbow, 
and  as  he  folded  back  the  bed-quilt  and  ran 
his  finger  along  the  little  squares,  he  said, 
"Hiram,  you  and  me  have  ben  a-settin'  'round 
these  parts  a  good  many  years,  and  sometimes 
don't  it  occur  ter  ye  that  we  're  gettin'  'round 
toward  the  home  stretch  ?  This  life  's  a  kind 
of  a  futurity  race,  as  it  were,  that  we  're  in-ter 
without  havin'  nothin'  ter  say  'bout  it;  and 
there  's  a  grandstand  full  o'  people  what 's 
a-watchin'  and  a-criticisin'  how  we  're 


170  OLD  JIM  CASE 

a-steppin*.  Some  '11  go  ter  the  furst  quarter 
like  a  whirlwind,  and  break  and  go  all  ter 
pieces  at  the  half;  but  I  've  tried  ter  kind  o* 
take  a  gait  that  I  could  keep  and  go  'way 
'round  the  track,  and  so  I  hain't  disappointed 
anybody  much.  But,  Hiram,  ter  be  honest 
with  ye,  I  think  I  'm  a-comin'  down  the  last 
quarter.  Ye  know  what  I  mean  —  gettin' 
near  the  wire  that  ends  the  race." 

Hiram  knew  only  too  well  what  Jim  Case 
meant,  for  Jim's  wife  had  told  him  before  he 
went  up  to  Jim's  room  how  he  had  been 
suffering  with  the  rheumatism  and  that  he 
thought  he  was  done  for. 

"P'rhaps  I  kin  make  it  a  leetle  plainer," 
continued  Jim,  "if  I  tell  ye  I  've  made  my  will, 
and  I  guess  I  'm  all  ready  ter  pass  the  Judges' 
stand.  Now,  if  ye  've  got  any  suggestions  ter 
make,  Hiram,  why,  now  's  yer  chance." 

Hiram  looked  down  at  the  floor  and  then 
up  at  the  ceiling  and  nervously  twirled  his 
ivory-handled  cane. 

"Ye  know,  Jim,"  he  said,  "ye 've  never 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          171 

ben  much  of  a  church  man  and  I  'd  suggest 
that  it  might  give  ye  a  leetle  consolation  ter 
send  fer  Elder  Armstrong  and  have  him  come 
over  a  leetle  while  every  day  and  offer  up  a 
prayer  fer  ye." 

Old  Jim  sat  up  erect  in  bed  and  turned  so 
that  he  could  squarely  face  Hiram  Wilcox. 

"Hiram,"  he  said,  "ye  needn't  send  fer 
the  Elder  ner  his  pardner,  Timothy  Salmon, 
fer  I  '11  tell  ye  right  now  that  I  'd  ruther  go  to 
hell  with  you  and  Cal  Hemmingway  and  the 
boys  than  ter  heaven  with  Elder  Armstrong 
and  Timothy  Salmon  and  their  kind.  Jest  tell 
'em  that  fer  me."  Here  Jim,  with  a  final 
gesture,  sank  back  upon  his  pillows. 

As  Hiram  left  the  room,  he  promised  to 
deliver  the  message  to  all  the  boys  at  the  old 
store  and  to  tell  them  that  Jim  was  hoping 
to  be  out  and  with  them  soon. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ELECTION  DAY  AT  SOUTH  HOLLOW 

TT  WAS  a  clear  November  morning,  with  a 
-*-  little  flurry  of  snow,  just  the  kind  of  a  day 
that  the  politicians  would  call  "real  good 
Republican  weather."  Several  groups  of  men 
were  standing  about  on  the  main  corners  of 
the  village,  earnestly  discussing  the  probable 
results  of  the  day's  election.  The  bar-room 
over  at  the  tavern  was  closed  tight  and  the 
curtains  drawn  back.  A  piece  of  paper, 
pinned  on  the  door,  bore  the  grave  message: 
Closed  till  after  lection. 

The  polls  had  opened  at  sunrise.  "District 
No.  i "  was  located  in  the  blacksmith  shop. 
Two  saw-horses  with  a  plank  across  answered 
the  purpose  of  a  table,  at  which  were  seated  the 
inspectors  of  election.  During  the  year  these 

"inspectors"  are  satisfied  to  follow  the  plough 

172 


OLD  JIM  CASE  173 

or  pitch  hay  from  sunrise  to  sunset  for  one 
dollar  and  fifty  cents  a  day,  but  on  this  occa- 
sion they  were  to  receive  five  dollars  for  their 
day's  work.  Their  duties  were  to  sit  behind 
the  wooden  box  and  check  up  the  votes  as 
they  dropped  into  the  slot.  The  hardest 
part  of  the  day's  work  was  to  wait  for  the  voters 
to  come  in,  as  there  were  only  some  twenty 
men  to  vote  in  this  district.  On  ordinary 
occasions  these  men  were  cordial.  As  Jim 
Case  would  put  it,  "They  'd  even  let  ye  bite 
a  chew  of  tabaccy  off  o'  their  plug;"  but, 
when  seated  behind  the  ballot  box  on  Election 
Day,  they  were  entirely  different  people,  refus- 
ing to  recognise  their  own  neighbour.  As  their 
acquaintances  came  in  to  vote,  they  suddenly 
would  become  so  rigid  and  erect  that  they  were 
in  imminent  danger  of  toppling  over. 

"Ballot  number  twelve,"  you  would  hear 
one  call  out,  with  a  heavy  bass  voice.  "What 's 
yer  age,  name,  and  address  ? " 

After  answering  all  their  questions,  the  poor, 
trembling  voter  would  retire  to  a  booth  — 


174  OLD  JIM  CASE 

a  square,  portable  box  a  little  larger  than  a 
coffin  —  where  he  could  fold  and  unfold  his 
ballot,  a  large,  clumsy  paper  almost  as  big  as 
a  horse  blanket.  Suspended  from  the  top  of 
the  booth  hung  a  blunt  pencil  from  a  string. 
With  this  the  voter  made  the  little  cross  that 
indicated  his  intentions. 

On  this  eventful  day  the  matter  at  issue  was: 
Should  the  Honourable  Timothy  Salmon  be 
chosen  for  village  president,  or  Calvin  Avery 
Hemmingway,  the  genial  proprietor  of  the 
South  Hollow  general  store.  The  usual 
arguments  had  been  made  for  and  against  both 
candidates,  with  lengthy  discussions  at  the 
town  hall,  on  the  street  corners,  and  in  the 
tavern.  For  the  past  three  weeks  a  large 
banner  had  been  hanging  between  the  four 
corners,  flapping  in  the  breeze,  and  bearing 
what  was  supposed  to  be  a  likeness  of  one  of 
the  candidates.  To  avoid  any  possible  mis- 
take, however,  his  constituents  had  printed 
under  the  picture,  in  big,  square  letters, 
Vote  for  the  Honourable  Timothy  Salmon. 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          175 

The  real  issue  in  this  campaign  was  whether 
the  village  should  purchase  chairs  for  the  town 
hall  or  continue  to  rent  them  from  Elmer 
Perkins,  the  undertaker.  The  Honourable 
Timothy  Salmon  stood,  as  usual,  for  curtailing 
expenses  rather  than  "spreading  out,"  and  he 
was  decided  in  saying  that  he  was  not  for 
spending  the  village  money  for  "opera  chairs," 
as  he  termed  them.  On  the  other  hand,  Jim 
Case,  in  arguing  for  Cal  Hemmingway,  said 
he  thought  it  was  a  disgrace  to  South  Hollow 
not  to  own  and  maintain  chairs  for  use  in  the 
town  hall.  In  support  of  his  position,  he 
cited  a  case  when  an  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  troupe 
was  to  "show"  at  the  hall  on  a  Friday  night 
and  Perkins,  the  undertaker,  happened  to  have 
a  funeral  the  same  day  over  at  Cardiff.  Per- 
kins and  the  manager  of  the  troupe  drove  six 
miles  over  to  Cardiff  and  were  obliged  to  give 
the  family  of  the  deceased  free  passes  to  the 
show  in  order  to  secure  a  postponement  of  the 
funeral.  So  they  got  the  chairs  and  had  the 
performance  that  night  as  advertised. 


176  OLD  JIM  CASE 

In  the  course  of  his  speech,  Old  Jim  spied 
a  little  gathering  of  coloured  people  among 
his  listeners,  and  with  outstretched  arm  he 
pointed  directly  at  them.  :'To  our  coloured 
voters  I  want  ter  say  that  the  great  liberties 
an*  priv-la-ges  which  ye  possess  ye  owe  ter  the 
Re-publican  party,  and  at  every  oppor-tunity 
in  the  history  o'  this  village  the  coloured  voters 
Ve  always  shown  by  their  dec-ler-ations  and 
by  their  votes  that  they  stand  fer  those  princi- 
ples which  '11  best  sub-serve  our  form  o* 
government.  The  coloured  voters  o'  this  vil- 
lage possess  too  great  a  degree  of  in-tel-ligence, 
too  much  loy-alty  ter  the  Re-publican  party, 
too  much  love  fer  the  honour  an'  fair  name  o* 
their  village,  too  deep  an  in-terest  in  its  welfare, 
progress,  and  prosper-ity  ter  be  influenced  in 
their  suffrages  by  empty  promises  er  by  petty 
grievances,  real  er  fancied.  And  I  'm  sure 
that  in  this  great  crisis  which  the  village 
faces,  ye  '11  not  fail  ter  live  up  ter  the  tra-di- 
tions  o'  yer  race,  and  that  ye,  by  ycr  votes, 
'11  prove  ab-solutely  true  ter  yer  party  and 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          177 

Calvin  Hemmingway,  who  has  always  treated 
all  men  ab-solutely  equal,  bein'  willin'  ter  sell 
bis  goods  ter  whoever  might  call,  regardless  o* 
colour,  race  er  creed." 

Every  night  the  week  before  election  such 
meetings  were  held,  the  Honourable  Timothy 
Salmon  and  Jim  Case  speaking  alternately, 
first  in  the  town  hall  and  then  on  the  hotel 
veranda. 

The  oldest  inhabitants  will  always  say  that 
it  was  one  of  the  hottest  Election  Days  they 
had  ever  had  in  South  Hollow.  Everybody 
that  had  "turned  twenty-one"  was  up  early, 
ready  to  vote  and  impatient  to  hear  the  returns 
that  were  to  be  read  that  night  at  the  tavern. 

Jim  Case  spent  most  of  the  day  at  District 
No.  3,  Whitlock's  barn,  where  over  two  hun- 
dred votes  would  be  cast.  He  was  there  before 
sunrise  and  when  the  first  voter  arrived,  who 
was,  of  course,  old  Winnie  Fowler.  Although 
he  was  the  oldest  man  in  the  village,  for  years 
he  had  boasted  of  casting  the  first  vote  of  the 
day  in  his  district. 


1 78  OLD  JIM  CASE 

As  he  pushed  the  door  shut  and  stamped 
the  snow  off,  he  addressed  the  inspectors. 
"Good  mornin',  boys.  Don't  s'pose  none  o* 
y'u  hez  voted  yet,  "cause  y'u  all  agreed  't  I 
could  be  number  one  if  I  'd  get  here  on  time." 
He  pulled  out  his  watch,  and,  as  he  held  it  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand  and  rubbed  his  bony  thumb 
back  and  forth  over  the  open  face,  he  continued : 

"Wa'al,  I  'm  here  and  I  got  four  minutes  ta 
spare.  I  hain't  missed  a  votin'  ballot  number 
one,  right  here  in  this  very  barn,  fer  over  fifty 
years." 

They  all  congratulated  him  on  being  on 
time  and  one  of  the  inspectors,  pointing  over 
to  Jim  Case,  said,  "Do  y'u  know  that  feller 
over  there  ? " 

Fowler  threw  his  head  back  a  little,  fixed 
his  glasses  on  straight,  and,  taking  a  good 
look,  answered,  "Know  Jim  Case!  Wa'al, 
I  guess  I  orter.  We  've  belonged  ta  the  same 
society  fer  over  thirty  years,  our  motto  bein* 
*  Invincible  in  Peace  and  Invisible  in  War.' 
Hey,  Jim?" 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  179 

"That 's  right,"  laughed  Jim,  as  he  gave  the 
stove  a  shaking  up  and  walked  over  to  get 
another  shovel  of  coal.  "But  what  we  're  all 
a-thinkin'  about  this  mornin'  is,  who  's  a-goin' 
ter  be  the  next  president  o'  this  'ere  village." 

Fowler  turned  a  water  pail  upside  down 
and,  with  a  grunt,  took  his  seat  on  it.  Then 
he  replied,  "Wa'al,  Jim,  I  sorter  got  a  feelin' 
in  my  bones  that  this  'ere  election  ta-day  is 
a-goin'  ter  be  putty  close.  Course,  Timothy 
Salmon  's  a-goin'  ter  get  there,  but  I  kinder 
think  Cal  Hemmingway  's  got  a  lot  o'  silent 
votes  what 's  a-goin'  in  fer  him.  Y'u  see 
folks  like  ter  go  ta  the  show  and  they  want  ter 
know  fer  sure  that  there  '11  be  seats  fer  'um  ta 
set  in  when  they  git  inter  the  hall,  and  they  're 
liable  ta  show  their  feelin's  at  the  polls. 
Then  again,  there  's  Perkins,  the  undertaker; 
he  's  agin  Hemmingway  'cause  he  wants  the 
rent  fer  them  chairs,  and  if  the  town  owned 
their  own,  why  he  d  be  a-losin'  as  much  as 
twelve  dollars  a  year.  I  know,  'cause  me  and. 
Pop  wuz  a-figurin'  it  up  last  night  over  ta  the 


i8o  OLD  JIM  CASE 

tavern.  Y'u  see  he  gets  a  dollar  a  night  fer 
'urn." 

During  Fowler's  talk  Jim  had  found  a 
comfortable  seat  in  an  old  buggy.  As  he 
removed  his  overcoat  and  carelessly  threw  it 
across  the  dashboard,  he  said,  "Winnie,  I 
s'pose  you  're  a-goin'  ter  cast  this  first  vote  o' 
the  day  fer  the  Honourable  Timothy  Salmon, 
hain't  y'u?" 

"Wa'al,  sir,"  answered  up  Fowler  as  he 
banged  his  cane  against  the  iron  tire  of  the 
wheel,  "while  't  ain't  none  o'  yer  danged 
business,  I  'm  a-goin  ter  answer  y'u  by  a-sayin' 
that  I  hain't  fer  seein'  Elder  Perkins  lose  that 
twelve  dollars  a  year.  He  's  got  ter  live  some- 
how and  he  hain't  had  a  funeral  sence  Tyler 
Tompkins  committed  suicide  by  a-hangin' 
himself  in  the  woodshed,  and  that  hain't 
likely  ta  a-cur  in  our  midst  again  in  the  Lord 
only  knows  when." 

"No,"  said  Jim  solemnly.  :( Tyler  Tomp- 
kins wuz  the  best  friend  Perk  ever  had,  right 
up  ter  the  last." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  181 

Fowler  arose,  and,  pushing  the  pail  back  in 
its  place,  reached  over,  took  his  ballot  and 
started  for  the  little  booth.  As  he  did  so,  Old 
Jim  got  down  out  of  the  buggy,  and,  walking 
over,  took  Fowler  by  the  arm  and  said,  "Win- 
nie, the  trouble  with  y'u  is  that  y'u  don't  take 
everything  inta  consideration.  Y'u  see  if  we 
buy  chairs  fer  the  town  hall,  we  '11  own  urn* 
ourselves  and  won't  have  the  expense  o' 
rentin'.  If  Perkins  can  make  money  a-ownin' 
them  chairs  and  a-rentin'  'um  ta  us,  we  ought 
ter  make  his  profit  fer  the  town  by  a-ownin' 
'um  and  not  havin'  ta  pay  this  rent;  and  then, 
besides,  there  be  folks  what  has  a  feelin' 
regardin'  seein'  a  show  in  the  same  chair  what 
they  'd  been  sittin'  in  at  a  funeral.  I  tell  y'u, 
it 's  what  keeps  a  lot  o'  folks  from  a-pat- 
ronisin'  the  town  hall." 

The  two  men  had  crossed  over  and  were  now 
sitting  perched  up  on  the  feed-box.  Jim  had 
started  to  cut  his  initials  in  the  cover  and 
Winnie  Fowler  was  scratching  his  gray  head 
and  looking  rather  bewildered  at  the  ballot. 


i8z  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Finally  he  looked  up  at  Jim,  and  said  "I  ben 
a-thinkin'  of  all  that,  what  y'u  jest  ben  a-sayin'. 
I  had  n't  a-looked  at  it  in  jest  that  light 
before." 

As  he  said  this,  one  of  the  inspectors  called 
out,  "Ballot  Number  One;  Winnie  Fowler; 
age  83.  Come  on,  Winnie,  and  vote,  fer 
there 's  a  lot  more  a-comin'  up  the  driveway." 
And  as  the  old  man  carefully  let  himself  down 
from  the  oat-bin,  he  whispered  to  his  mentor, 
"Here  goes  fer  Cal  Hemmingway,  and  I'll 
see  y'u  later  over  ta  the  tavern." 

Old  Jim  spent  almost  the  entire  day  there 
until  he  felt  confident  that  Whitlock's  barn 
was  a  sure  thing  for  Cal  Hemmingway.  Then 
he  lost  no  time  in  getting  over  to  Pratt's  barber 
shop,  District  Number  2. 

Pratt's  barber  shop  was  a  veritable  hole 
in  the  wall.  With  the  cigar-stand  and  the 
barber's  chair  moved  over  in  the  corner,  it 
left  just  enough  room  for  a  polling  district, 
with  nothing  to  spare. 

Pratt     himself    had     arranged     to     take 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          183 

advantage  of  the  occasion  by  having  a  day  's 
hunt.  He  voted  early,  and  then  went  over 
and  tacked  a  card  on  the  barber's  pole: 
Fresh  Paint.  Last  election  day  the  pole 
had  been  used  as  anchorage  for  tired  and 
unsteady  politicians  until  it  was  nearly  cracked 
in  two.  Pratt  was  for  taking  no  more  chances. 

"I  guess  that  '11  make  Jum  sit  up  and  take 
notice,"  he  said,  as  he  stepped  back  and  gave 
it  a  look  of  satisfaction.  Then  he  disappeared 
up  the  hill  with  his  gun  over  his  shoulder. 

There  were  three  Inspectors  of  Election  in 
this  District  No.  2:  Munroe  Ostrander,  Al 
Worden,  and  Hicks  Toogood.  Most  of  the 
day  was  spent  playing  dominoes  and  discussing 
county  politics.  Now  and  then  a  heated 
argument  would  be  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  a  voter. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Old  Jim 
pushed  open  the  door  and,  nodding  to  the 
inspectors,  inquired,  "How's  things  a-goin' 
over  here,  boys  ?" 

"Too  one-sided  ter  be  excitin',"  answered 


1 84  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Munroe  Ostrander,  looking  up  with  a  yawn. 
"Why  Timothy  Salmon  '11  look  like  a  trottin 
horse  in  a  runnin'  race." 

"Wa'al,"  said  Old  Jim,  "Cal  's  jest  as  sure 
o*  gettin*  Whitlock's  barn  as  we  are  ta  have 
day  and  night." 

At  this  juncture,  Steve  Rogers  entered.  He 
walked  up,  and,  after  answering  all  the  ques- 
tions, was  just  about  to  enter  the  voting  booth, 
when  Old  Jim's  voice  rang  out,  "Here  Steve 
Rogers,  you  hain't  got  no  business  a-castin' 
that  vote,  an'  y'u  know  it." 

Steve  Rogers  stopped  short  as  if  a  train 
robber  had  said  "hands  up!"  and  the  three 
inspectors  came  to  their  feet  as  quick  as  if 
Pratt,  the  barber,  had  called  "Who  's  next?" 
Al  Worden  stepped  forward,  and,  placing  his 
hand  on  Jim's  shoulder,  said,  "What  do  you 
mean,  sir?  To  challenge  this  man's  vote?" 

"Call  it  anything  y'u  want  ta,"  replied  Jim, 
"but  I  '11  tell  y'u  all  right  here  now  that  he  's 
got  ter  explain  somethin'  ta  me  before  he  kin 
make  that  vote  count  in  this  election." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          185 

Jim  beckoned  for  Rogers  to  follow  him 
outside.  When  the  two  were  alone,  Jim 
looked  squarely  into  Steve  Roger's  face. 
"Steve,  you  know  blamed  well  that  you've 
got  a  bet  with  Bennett,  the  stage  driver.  You 
bet  him  a  plug  o'  tobacco  that  Timothy 
Salmon  'd  get  elected.  Course,  the  wager 
hain't  so  much,  but  it 's  a  bet  jest  as  much  as  if 
't  wuz  a  five-dollar  note,  and  a  man  what 's 
got  a  bet  on  election,  y'u  know,  kin  be 
challenged  at  the  polls  and  he  's  liable  ta  lose 
his  vote.  I  would  n't  've  said  nothin',  Steve, 
only  Cal  Hemmingway  5s  our  friend  and  I 
want  ta  see  him  get  elected.  I  knowed  that 
y'u  were  a-goin'  ter  vote  fer  Salmon  and  I 
thought  p'rhaps  if  I  'd  remind  y'u  o'  the  time 
Cal  wuz  good  enough  ta  lend  y'u  his  rubber 
boots  that  day  we  went  up  the  creek  fishin', 
p'rhaps  you  'd  change  yer  mind." 

Rogers  looked  at  Jim  long  and  steadily. 
Then,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  he  said,  "Why, 
Jim,  I  'd  do  most  any  thin'  fer  y'u.  You  're 
right  about  Cal  a-lendin'  me  them  boots  and 


1 86  OLD  JIM  CASE 

I  '11  swear  that 's  more  'n  old  Salmon  'd  do 
fer  me." 

He  took  the  ballot  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Jim,  who  marked  it  "Straight 
Republican/'  saying,  as  he  handed  it 
back,  "Be  around  ter  the  tavern  ta-night 
and  I  '11  show  y'u  how  much  I  'm  obliged 
ta  y'u." 

The  two  walked  back  and  Steve  Rogers 
dropped  an  unchallenged  vote  in  the  box, 
and  it  counted  one  for  Cal  Hemmingway. 

Old  Jim  shook  hands  with  a  few  more 
straggling  voters,  and,  after  giving  them  each 
a  little  confidential  talk,  hurried  out  and  up 
the  street  to  see  how  things  were  going  at  the 
blacksmith  shop.  He  arrived  there  just  at 
sundown  and  as  the  polls  were  about  to  close. 
The  big  doors  at  the  shop  were  swung  to,  and, 
while  the  crowds  stood  about  peeking  in  at  the 
windows,  the  inspectors  were  busy  counting 
votes.  Several  bets  had  been  recorded  at  the 
tavern  during  the  day  in  the  way  of  cigars,  and 
Winnie  Fowler  bet  Eph  Lancaster  a  pint  of 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          187 

peanuts  that  Cal  Hemmingway  would  get  a 
majority  of  fifteen  or  more. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  crowd  was  so  large  that 
you  could  not  get  within  gun-shot  of  the 
tavern,  which  was  rilled  to  its  utmost  capacity. 

After  a  time  Old  Jim  came  in.  He  elbowed 
himself  through  the  crowd  and  pushed  his  way 
around  behind  the  desk,  where  he  stepped  up 
into  a  chair  and,  taking  a  paper  from  his  inside 
pocket,  called  out: 

"If  ye '11  all  keep  quiet,  I'll  read  ye  the 
official  returns  from  the  three  votin'  districts, 
which  are  all  in  and  correctly  compiled." 

Immediately  the  babel  ceased.  Pop,  the 
proprietor,  removed  the  little  stick  that  let 
down  the  window  so  that  the  clouds  of 
tobacco  smoke  could  be  exchanged  for  a  bit 
of  fresh  air. 

"Good  idee,"  remarked  Jim.  "Guess 
p'rhaps  now  I  kin  read  these  returns  without 
a-chokinj  ter  death."  And  then,  after  cough- 
ing a  few  times,  he  finally  cleared  his  throat, 
and,  holding  the  paper  up  under  a  smutty, 


1 88  OLD  JIM  CASE 

fly-specked  lamp,    proceeded    with  his   an- 
nouncements: 

District  No.  i;  Blacksmith  shop;  18 
votes  cast;  Gives  Cal  Hemmingway  15, 
Timothy  Salmon  3. 

District  No.  2;  Pratt's  barber  shop;  §0 
votes  cast;  Gives  Cal  Hemmingway  43, 
Timothy  Salmon  17. 

District  No.  3;  Whitlock's  barn;  220 
votes  cast;  Gives  Cal  Hemmingway  120, 
Timothy  Salmon  100. 

This  gives  Cal  Hemmingway  a  total  majority 
of  58." 

Nearly  every  hat  went  up  to  welcome  the 
new  village  president.  Cal  Hemmingway  was 
called  upon  to  make  a  speech.  He  had  been 
sitting  in  the  parlour  with  Hiram  Wilcox, 
nervously  waiting  to  hear  the  results,  after 
which  he  was  carried  bodily  across  the  street 
to  the  band-stand,  the  entire  crowd  following. 

Jim  Case  was  the  first  speaker,  and  he 
proudly  stepped  upon  the  band-stand.  When 
the  crowd  quieted  down,  he  said: 

"Gentlemen,  I  Ve  heared  it  said  that  any 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          189 

man  who  'd  ought  ter  be  free,  will  be.  Now 
't  will  apply  jest  as  well  ter  a  village  as  't  will 
ter  a  person.  Every  townsman  o*  South 
Hollow  who 's  loyal  ter  this  village  ought 
ter  be  proud  ter-night,  fer  this  victory  means 
freedom  ter  each  and  every  one  o'  us.  It 
means  that  we  '11  be  a-workin'  fer  ourselves 
and  each  other.  It  means  that  we  Ve  at  last 
cast  off  the  cloak  o'  authority  and  become 
in-dependent,  wherein  we  kin  have  an  in-divid- 
uality  o'  our  own,  and  that  we  '11  no  longer  be 
subjects  ter  the  dictations  of  an  old  fogy 
(cheers)  who  fer  years  has  profited  by  our 
labours  and  misfortunes.  It 's  through  his 
influence  and  power  that  the  growth  o'  our 
village  has  ben  stunted  o'  any  possible  progress. 
(More  cheers.)  The  people  o'  South  Hollow 
have  ter-day  proved  ter  the  Honourable 
Timothy  Salmon  that  it  takes  more  'n  a  white 
tie  and  a  title  o'  'Church  pillar'  ter  make  'em 
believe  in  a  man's  sincerity.  We  've  showed 
him  that  we  don't  need  no  X-ray  ter  probe 
through  his  cloak  o'  religion,  fer  we  know  that 


igo  OLD  JIM  CASE 

real  religion  means  the  doin'  o'  justice.  It 
means  a-givin'  ter  others  the  same  rights  what 
we  'd  claim  fer  ourselves.  Real  religion  con- 
sists in  the  duties  o'  man  ter  man. 

"I  tell  ye,  brother  townsmen,"  continued 
Old  Jim,  with  uplifted  hand,  "we  've  heared 
it  said  that  in  the  leetle  things  there  wuz 
liberty;  in  the  great  things,  unity;  and  in  all 
things,  charity.  Cal  Hemmingway  don't  carry 
no  gold-handled  cane,  'cause  Cal 's  poor; 
but  he  's  rich  with  honour;  with  integrity 
he  's  also  wealthy." 

As  he  said  this,  he  turned,  and,  taking  Cal 
by  the  hand,  introduced  him  as  the  new 
village  president,  amid  prolonged  cheers  of  the 
crowd. 

The  applause  continued  for  several  minutes, 
and  then  Cal  spoke  up,  saying: 

"Feller  citizens,  I  want  ter  thank  ye  one 
and  all  fer  the  honour  which  ye  Ve  bestowed 
on  me  in  selectin'  me  fer  yer  president.  Not 
bein'  no  speech-maker,  I  '11  jest  say  that  I  'm 
a-goin'  ter  do  the  best  I  kin  fer  the  village, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  191 

and  if  there  be  any  errors  in  my  administration, 
they  '11  be  errors  o'  the  head  instead  o*  the 
heart." 

Here  Cal  made  a  modest  bow  and  took  his 
seat  again.  Then  after  the  usual  hand- 
shaking and  congratulating,  the  noise  sub- 
sided and  died  down. 

A  little  later  the  crowd  commenced  to  break 
up  and  go  home,  and  the  village  of  South 
Hollow  was  once  again  wrapped  in  peaceful 
slumber. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    'COON    HUNT 

IT'S  jest  the  night  fer  a  'coon  hunt," 
said  Cal,  as  Henry  Bennings  came  in 
and  closed  the  door. 

The  store  was  occupied  by  the  regular 
sitters,  and  also  some  fellows  who  had  ridden 
over  in  the  old  stage  with  Bennett  from  the 
city.  A  'coon  hunt  had  been  arranged  for 
this  night  and  they  were  all  waiting  to  go  with 
Jim  Case  over  to  Onondaga  Hill  where  the 
hunt  was  to  take  place.  There  was  naturally 
much  confusion  about  the  old  store.  The 
counter  was  piled  up  with  overcoats  and 
sweaters,  and  Cal  was  never  more  busy  in 
his  life,  filling  lanterns  and  putting  up  lunches. 

At  last  Cal  stopped  to  rest.  Presently  the 
door  opened,  and  in  walked  Old  Jim  leading 

Nero,  his  'coon  hound. 

193 


OLD  JIM  CASE  193 

"S'pose  ye  got  yer  wife's  consent  ter  stay 
out  all  night,  hain't  ye,  Jim?"  said  Cal,  as 
he  folded  his  arms  and  winked  at  the  boys. 

Old  Jim  answered  as  he  dumped  his  things 
on  the  counter.  "Yes,  got  things  all  fixed. 
Ye  know  my  wife  Js  got  the  most  even  temper 
ye  ever  saw  —  mad  as  a  hatter  all  the  time!" 

Jim  crawled  up  on  a  cracker  barrel  and 
listened  patiently  to  what  was  supposed  to 
be  a  new  story  .that  Old  Bennett  had  just 
brought  fresh  from  the  city;  and  as  he  was 
the  next  one  called  upon,  he  laughed  a  little 
and  said,  "  Wa'al,  boys,  I  'm  jest  out  oj  stories, 
but  I  kin  tell  ye  an  ex-perience  I  had  a-comin' 
back  from  the  North  Woods  a  year  ago  this 
fall.  Ye  see,  our  train  had  jest  stopped  at 
a  leetle  side  station  and  two  old  feller's  got 
aboard  that  come  in  and  took  seats  right 
in  front  o'  me.  One  wuz  a  lettle,  short, 
sawed-off,  dried-up  individual,  over  eighty 
years  old,  and  the  other  wuz  a  regular  giant. 
He  wore  gray  whiskers,  a  broad-brimmed  hat, 
and  wuz  carryin'  an  old-fashioned  muzzle- 


i94  -  OLD  JIM  CASE 

loadin'  shotgun.  Now,  I  wanted  ter  get 
inter  conversation  with  'em,  so,  takin' 
advantage  o'  the  fact  that  one  had  a  gun,  I 
leaned  over  and  asked  if  they  were  fond  o' 
huntin'. 

"The  big  feller  turned  half  way  'round, 
and  sez  in  a  good-natured  way,  'My  friend, 
when  I  can't  hunt  I  want  ter  die.'  At  the 
same  time  he  pointed  out  o'  the  car  window 
ter  the  great  forest  we  were  passin',  and  then 
sez,  'Me  and  Silas  here  have  slung  lead  over 
every  foot  o'  that  ground  from  one  end  to 
t'  other. 

"  'I  could  tell  ye  a  story  'bout  a  huntin' 
trip  we  had,'  he  sez,  pointin'  ter  the  leetle 
feller,  'but  Silas  there  might  object.  Ye  see 
I  've  twitted  him  'bout  it  fer  fifty-two  years.' 

"Here  Silas  looked  up  with  a  grin,  and 
sez,  'Oh,  go  on  an'  tell  the  story  'bout  me. 
I  guess  if  I  'd  ben  goin'  ter  get  mad  I  'd 
a-done  so  years  ago.' 

"The  big  feller  with  the  gun  shifted  ter  a 
comfortable  position  and  commenced  a-tellin' 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  195 

me  how  Silas  and  himself,  when  they  were 
boys  tergether,  once  started  out  still-huntin' 
fer  deer.  He  said  they  had  a  muzzle-loadin* 
shotgun  that  required  percussion  caps  and 
after  they  'd  ben  out  a  few  hours,  Silas  came 
a-runninj  over  ter  him  all  out  o'  breath  and 
told  how  he  M  lost  the  best  shot  he  'd  ever 
had  at  a  beautiful  big  buck.  Silas  sobbed 
as  he  told  how  he  used  every  cap  he  had,  but 
fer  some  reason  the  darned  gun  would  n't 
go  off,  and  at  last  he  come  away  mad  and 
disappointed.  Ye  see,  he  could  n't  under- 
stand what  wuz  the  matter  with  that  danged 
gun  until  the  next  day  they  took  it  ter  his 
father,  who  wuz  a  gunsmith  by  trade,  and 
when  the  old  man  took  it  apart  ter  see  what 
the  matter  wuz Here  the  old  cuss  com- 
menced ter  chuckle,"  said  Jim,  "and  Silas 
looked  a  leetle  sheepish. 

"'His  father  found  that  Silas,  in  his 
ex-citement  while  loadin,  had  put  in  a  chaw 
o'  tobaccy  instead  o'  powder/ 

"As  he  finished  the  story,  the  train  stopped 


196  OLD  JIM  CASE 

at  their  village  and  the  two  old  fellers  hustled 
out.  I  waved  my  hand  as  the  train  moved 
away,  leavin'  um  both  a-standin'  on  the 
platform,  one  a-swingin'  his  old  gun,  and  the 
other  his  hat,  still  laughin'  at  the  same  old 
story  that  happened  when  they  were  boys 
tergether  fifty-two  years  ago." 

Just  as  Jim  finished  his  story,  someone  drove 
up  in  front  of  the  store,  and  a  voice  called  out, 
"All  aboard." 

It  was  Perkins,  the  undertaker,  driving  his 
black  team  hitched  to  a  democrat  waggon.  A 
lantern  was  tied  on  the  dashboard. 

"Hustle,  you  fellows,"  he  called  again. 

The  boys  grabbed  up  their  packages  and 
Old  Jim  slid  down  off  of  the  cracker  barrel 
and  followed  out,  with  Nero's  chain  in  one 
hand,  and  dangling  a  pair  of  time-rusted  tree- 
climbers  with  the  other. 

The  boys  filed  into  the  waggon  and  the 
team  dashed  away  from  Cal's  store. 

The  night  was  damp,  and  not  a  little  chill 
came  from  the  wind  that  strikes  down  from 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          197 

the  northwest,  but  everybody  was  bundled 
up  to  the  ears,  and  no  one  minded  the 
night  air. 

Jim's  famous  'coon  hound  Nero  was  on 
the  rear  seat,  the  most  restless  animal  that 
ever  lived,  making  life  miserable  for  the  boys 
who  were  attempting  to  quiet  him.  A  cuff  on 
the  head  told  Nero  that  'coon  hunting  was  yet 
two  hours  to  the  bad,  and  with  an  impatient 
growl,  he  allowed  his  head  to  sink  to  a  knee 
while  he  muttered  his  contempt  in  his  own 
dog  way. 

The  clouds  that  obscured  the  musky  sky 
began  to  break  the  great  fleecy  masses  scud- 
ding away  to  the  east.  A  star  peeping  here 
and  there  gave  the  boys  hope  that  the  moon 
might  yet  be  seen.  A  few  drops  of  rain,  a 
light  gray  in  the  northwest,  was  an  indication 
that  the  sky  was  clearing,  and  the  sight  of 
the  great  north  star  caused  an  ejaculation  of 
joy  from  the  crowd. 

Up  the  steep  hill  and  away  to  the  east,  a 
drive  of  an  hour  brought  the  waggon  in  front  of 


198  OLD  JIM  CASE 

a  smart-looking  farmhouse,  through  the 
windows  of  which  a  light  twinkled,  followed  by 
a  cheery  "Hello!"  and  a  good-natured  farmer 
came  out  of  the  door,  with  a  lantern  in  his 
hand,  to  receive  his  old  friend,  Jim  Case,  and 
the  boys. 

It  was  almost  nine  o'clock  when  everything 
had  been  put  in  shape  in  the  farm  barn. 

Nero  was  acting  badly.  He  tugged  on  the 
chain  and  howled  because  Jim  would  not 
release  him.  His  nose  followed  the  ground 
and  he  ducked  here  and  there.  But  to  release 
him  now  would  spoil  the  night's  fun. 

Elmer  Perkins  shouldered  a  big  pack 
basket,  and  Henry  Bennings  grabbed  up  the 
other.  The  city  fellows  who  never  threatened 
to  work,  each  carried  a  lantern,  while  Jim  — 
good-natured  Old  Jim,  as  hardy  a  'coon  hunter 
as  Onondaga  ever  reared,  followed  on  with  his 
pipe  held  tightly  between  his  teeth,  the  smoke 
from  which,  one  of  the  city  sports  remarked, 
"was  enough  to  kill  any  stray  'coon  within  a 
mile  of  the  party." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          199 

But  Old  Jim  didn't  care;  he  was  happy, 
infinitely  so. 

A  walk  of  half  a  mile,  and  then  Jim  Case 
who  was  leading  the  dog,  called  out,  "Lights 
low,  all  o'  ye.  There 's  a  cornfield  and  we  've 
got  ter  strike  out  fer  that  strip  o'  woods  ter 
the  right.  Nero  is  wild  ter  go,  and  I  Jm  a-goin* 
ter  give  him  his  head." 

The  hunters,  like  ghostly  figures,  watched 
old  Nero  disappear  in  the  woods.  Then, 
finding  a  comfortable  place  to  squat  under  a 
big  tree,  they  pulled  away  at  their  pipes  and 
cigars,  their  ears  strained  for  a  sound  from 
the  dog. 

It  is  an  interesting  scene,  what  can  be  seen 
of  it.  The  twinkling  electric  lights  of  Syra- 
cuse, far,  far  down  in  the  valley  below,  the 
plaintive  sighing  of  the  trees,  the  ceaseless 
patter  of  the  dry  leaves  as  they  strike  the 
ground,  the  general  quiet,  broken  only  at 
intervals  by  the  smothered  conversation  of  the 
boys,  is  an  experience  never  to  be  forgotten. 
Once  the  squeak  of  a  cork  and  a  suspicious 


200  OLD  JIM  CASE 

gurgle  led  Old  Jim  to  investigate,  but  the  only 
signs  of  liquid  was  one  bottle  marked  "Spirits 
of  ipecac"  and  two  of  "turpentine,"  so 
"not  guilty"  went  through  the  crowd. 

It  must  be  understood  that  the  dog  hunts 
the  'coons.  There  is  absolutely  nothing  to  do 
except  to  wait  until  the  hound  strikes  the  track; 
and  it  is  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  now 
and  then  a  good  story  or  experience  is  told. 

Jim  Case  and  "Quig,"  as  Jim  called  the 
farmer  who  had  joined  them,  had  not  seen 
each  other  in  a  long  time.  Jim  inquired  after 
all  the  Onondaga  Hill  folks,  finally  asking 
"Quig"  how  his  rheumatiz  wuz  these  days. 

"Oh,  't  ain't  much  better,"  said  the  old 
fellow,  "kind  o'  comes  and  goes  .  I  've  tried 
every  patent  medicine  that  wuz  ever  advertised 
and  carried  a  horse  chestnut  fer  nine  years, 
but  nothin'  seems  ter  do  it  any  good." 

"Ever  try  'lectricity  ? "  asked  Jim. 

"  'Lectricity?"  said  Quig.  "Yes,  't  wuz 
'bout  a  year  ago  last  June  that  I  wuz  struck 
by  lightnin'  and  wuz  laid  up  fer  nearly  two 


201 

weeks,  but  it  did  n't  seem  ter  help  my  rheu- 
matiz  any." 

"What's  become  o'  the  Stebbins  family? 
Be  they  still  a-livin'  in  the  white  house  at  the 
corners?"  Jim  questioned. 

"Same  place,"  replied  Quig.  "S'pose  ye 
beared  'bout  Stebbins's  wife  havin'  the  St. 
Vitus  dance?" 

"No,"  said  Jim.  "Did  n't  s'pose  Stebbins's 
folks  'proved  o9  dancinV 

Quig  laughed  as  he  whittled  away  on  a 
dead  twig.  ;<Yes,  and  she  's  as  bad  off  as  I 
be,"  pointing  with  his  stick  at  his  glass  eye; 
"lost  one  o'  hern  'bout  six  months  ago.  The 
boys  say  she  got  ter  shakin'  with  the  St.  Vitus 
and  must  've  shook  it  out.  Ye  see,  when  she 
wants  ter  talk,  she  has  ter  put  a  ringer  in  each 
ear  ter  hold  her  head  still,  and  then  she  '11 
grunt  a  few  times,  meanin'  that  she  's  gettin' 
ready.  That 's  a  sort  o'  cue  fer  everybody 
ter  keep  still,  and  then  she  '11  start  in  and  talk 
till  both  fingers  get  numb.  Stebbins  sez  the 
trouble  is  she  wants  ter  talk  'bout  all  the  time 


202  OLD  JIM  CASE 

—  don't  seem  ter  mind  the  gettin'  ready 
't  all." 

The  boys  laughed  heartily,  and  Old  Quig 
rattled  on.  !<  There  be  three  relatives  that  live 
with  the  Stebbins  —  all  women  folks  and  stone 
deaf.  They  had  a  funeral  next  door  ter  Steb- 
bins's  house  t'  other  day  and  he  had  ter  keep 
'em  all  in  the  house,  fer  when  they  try  ter  talk 
ter  each  other  on  the  front  porch  ye  kin  hear 
'em  talk  a  mile  off,  so  out  o'  respect  fer  the  dead, 
he  kept  'em  inside  till  the  funeral  wuz  over. 

"I  wuz  there  ta  dinner  once,"  he  continued, 
still  whittling  away,  "and  as  these  old  women 
could  n't  understand  ye  'd  hear  'em  say,  'Pass 
the  trumpet'  'bout  as  often  as  'Pass  the  bread.' 

"By  the  way,"  added  Quig,  "whatever 
become  o'  yer  old  side  partner,  Lem  Wetherby, 
Jim?" 

Jim  dropped  his  head  a  little  as  he  replied, 
"Dead  and  buried  years  ago." 

"Dead,  eh!  Ye  don't  say!  What  wuz  the 
matter  ? " 

"Got  ter  be  an  easy  drinker." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          203 

"Did,  hey?  Then  there  wuz  Steve  Mat- 
thews what  worked  over  ta  the  mill;  is  he 
around  ? " 

"Nope.  Moved  over  ta  Cardiff  and  finally 
drunk  himself  ta  death." 

"Well  said!  Seems  ez  though  all  on  'um 
what  I  knowed  over  ta  the  Hollow  had  died 
oj  the  same  thing.  Is  Irve  Halcomb  still 
hangin'  around  the  tavern?" 

"Nope.  He  's  gone  with  the  rest.  When 
he  died  two  years  ago,  Pop  jest,  poured  him 
back  inta  the  barrel,"  answered  Jim,  jumping 
to  his  feet.  He  had  ears  like  a  fox. 

"That's  Nero.  Hear  him?  There  he  goes 
again,"  said  Perkins.  "Let  him  give  voice 
once  more  and  he  's  got  a  'coon  sure." 

They  were  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  from 
the  recesses  of  which,  perhaps  half  a  mile  away, 
came  the  deep  bays  of  the  hound ;  a  yelp  of  joy 
is  followed  by  a  bark  of  satisfaction  and 
exultation.  Then  it  is  quiet,  and  so  plainly 
did  they  tell  that  he  had  a  'coon  treed  that  it 
only  took  a  few  minutes  for  the  husky  hunters 


204  OLD  JIM  CASE 

to  file  over  the  fence  and  shoot  into  the  forest 
once  more. 

Quig  was  the  last  one  over.  As  he  struck 
the  ground,  he  cried  out,  "Come  back  here, 
you  fellers,  with  that  lantern.  Dang  it  all! 
I  've  lost  my  eye." 

When  the  lantern  arrived,  he  poked  over  the 
dead  leaves  until  his  glass  eye  appeared.  In  a 
minute  it  was  slapped  back  in  place  and  Quig 
and  his  assistant  were  again  on  their  way 
following  the  dog. 

In  quick  succession  comes  Nero's  voice  to 
the  eager  ears  which  drink  in  every  sound. 
Then  maddening  and  in  greater  volume  his 
bays  resound  through  the  woods. 

"He  's  got  him!  He  's  got  him!"  shouted 
Perkins,  cutting  a  pigeon  wing,  forgetting  for 
a  moment  that  he  was  a  staid  undertaker. 

"'Coon,  sure  enough,"  said  Bennings,  while 
Old  Jim  rolled  his  cud  of  tobacco  to  the  other 
side  of  his  jaw,  and  called  out  rather  languidly: 
"'Coon  nothin'.  Wait  'till  you  fellers  see  that 


'coon." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  205 

But  Perkins  was  over  the  fence  and  making 
tracks  for  the  interior  of  the  forest.  His  lantern 
was  a  guide  to  the  boys,  falling  over  logs, 
scratching  their  hands  on  the  brushwood,  heed- 
less of  everything  except  that  Nero's  voice  was 
sounding  nearer  every  moment,  while  his  bark 
was  growing  more  terrific  with  every  sound. 

"  JCoon,  boys,  'coon!"  yells  Perkins,  in 
great  glee. 

He  was  the  first  there,  and  pointed  the  rays 
of  his  lantern  at  a  dark  object  crouched  in 
the  fork  of  a  small  maple.  Nero  was  very 
much  excited,  dancing  about  under  the  tree 
and  refusing  to  be  quieted.  The  boys  were 
jumping  about  in  preparation  for  the  affray 
that  was  to  follow.  Jim  only  smiled.  The 
cunning  old  codger  had  not  said  a  word,  but 
he  did  so  later. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  whether  it 's  a  'coon  er  not,"  said 
Perkins  as  he  swung  himself  into  the  branches. 

Nearer  and  nearer  he  climbed  toward  the 
object  until  he  could  almost  touch  it  with 
his  hand. 


206  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Around  the  tree  the  crowd  formed  a  semi- 
circle. A  faint,  tearful,  plaintive  "Meow" 
from  above ,  was  the  signal  for  a  roar  of 
laughter  from  Old  Jim  who  fell  all  over 
himself  in  his  efforts  to  make  the  most  out 
of  the  joke. 

It  was  rather  a  crestfallen  lot  that  made  a 
bee  line  through  the  woods  a  few  minutes 
later,  but  no  more  so  than  Nero,  who,  robbed 
of  his  prey,  refused  to  be  comforted. 

But  he  was  ready  for  the  word,  and  his 
master  gave  it  to  him. 

Then  began  the  tramp.  Many  miles  they 
travelled  that  night.  Down  deep  in  ravines, 
clambering  up  the  sides  of  precipices,  wading 
through  brooks,  swinging  into  gullies,  with 
only  a  small  branch  between  safety  and  a 
broken  limb,  everything  forgotten,  including 
fatigue  in  the  excitement  of  that  three  hours' 
tramp.  Across  the  fields  they  plodded,  the 
pack  baskets  weighing  a  ton  by  this  time,  and 
through  the  woods,  the  lanterns  clearly  show- 
ing the  way,  but  not  enough  to  save  the  hunters 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  207 

from  many  a  fall,  and  many  's  the  "dash  it" 
that  echoed  through  the  woods  that  night. 

Eleven  o'clock  came,  and  the  next  hour 
sped  by.  One  o'clock,  two  o'clock,  rolled 
around.  Many  times  had  Nero  been  sent 
into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  but  each  time  he 
had  returned  in  evident  disgust.  Old  Jim  had 
just  started  to  tell  the  boys  how  blamed  sorry 
he  was  that  they  had  n't  struck  a  'coon  track, 
when  everybody  came  to  a  halt.  Imagine 
the  sensation  when  the  dog  gave  voice,  and 
but  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  spot  where 
they  were  all  huddled.  The  boys  knew  it 
was  too  late  for  cats,  and  down  a  steep 
embankment  the  whole  crowd  rolled,  the 
lunch  flying  from  the  baskets  and  everybody 
landing  at  the  bottom  of  the  incline  in  one, 
big,  struggling  heap. 

"Got  one  this  time,  all  right.  Talk  about 
your  whoppers.  He  '11  weigh  twenty-five 
pounds  sure,"  said  Old  Jim  in  great  glee. 

The  lantern  shed  a  meagre  light,  but  its 
flickering  rays  were  enough  to  locate  Mr. 


208  OLD  JIM  CASE 

'Coon  quietly  perched  upon  a  limb  of  an 
old  basswood,  his  hair  bristling  in  anger,  while 
his  teeth  snapped  viciously,  his  great  bushy 
tail  moving  restlessly  from  side  to  side. 

Now  everything  was  ready  and  one  of  the 
party  climbed  into  the  tree  and  shook  the 
'coon  down  into  the  anxious  jaws  of  the  hound. 
Nero  dashed  upon  his  prey.  It  was  a  merry 
war:  the  'coon  and  the  dog  had  met.  First 
it  was  the  'coon  and  then  the  dog.  You 
could  not  tell  one  from  the  other  in  that  fast 
and  fierce  battle.  For  ten  minutes  or  more 
the  din  was  terrific,  but  weight  counts  in  a 
fight  of  this  character,  and  it  all  came  to  an 
end  suddenly.  Nero  jumped  from  his  con- 
quered foe  to  celebrate  the  victory  and  came 
to  the  chain  licking  his  wounds. 

The  first  rays  of  coming  daylight  now 
appeared  over  the  hills  beyond  the  Indian 
Reservation.  Many  miles  had  Jim  Case  led 
the  boys  and  it  was  a  foot-sore  and  weary 
gang  that  arrived  at  the  farmhouse  that  crisp 
November  morning. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HENRY  BENNINGS  IN  TROUBLE 

HENRY  BENNINGS  arrived  at  the  bank 
somewhat  late  in  the  morning.  Unused 
to  the  hardships  of  'coon  hunting,  he  was  nat- 
urally foot-sore  and  weary  from  loss  of  sleep 
and  the  all-night  tramp  over  the  hills.  He 
was  not  in  a  very  cheerful  mood  either  as  he 
opened  the  morning  mail.  The  reading  of  a 
letter  marked  "Personal"  gave  him  an  un- 
expected shock  and  brought  him  to  his  feet. 
A  gray  pallor  crept  over  his  face  as  he  read 
again  the  lines  from  a  friend  in  a  city  bank, 
informing  him  that  the  bank  examiner  would 
probably  visit  South  Hollow  within  a  day  or  so. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  seated  him- 
self at  his  desk  again,  and,  unlocking  his 
private  drawer,  brought  forth  a  small  red- 
covered  book,  which  he  opened,  and,  snatching 


OLD  JIM  CASE 

up  a  piece  of  blank  paper,  began  to  figure 
nervously  with  trembling  fingers.  Many  times 
he  referred  to  the  little  red  book,  and  often 
stopped  and  gazed  out  into  the  cold,  dismal 
street;  then  he  would  resume  his  figuring, 
while  his  face  assumed  a  strained  and 
unnatural  appearance. 

"What  the  devil  shall  I  do?"  he  said  at 
length.  :'This  affair  will  drive  me  crazy. 
What  a  blame  fool  I  've  been  anyway!  A 
small  grain  of  common  sense  would  have  told 
me  that  this  system  would  surely  end  in  this 
way.  Damn  that  Bunk  Bailey  and  his 
crooked  deals  anyway!  I  'd  have  made  up  that 
shortage  all  right  with  the  money  I  obtained 
from  Hattie  if  I  had  not  been  unlucky  enough 
to  meet  him  five  minutes  after  I  had  mort- 
gaged my  soul  and  honour  to  obtain  it.  I  am 
the  most  miserable  man  in  existence.  And, 
my  God!  to  think  of  the  lies  I  strung  out  to 
that  poor  girl.  Why,  I  even  had  to  tell  her 
Frank  died  in  the  hospital,  and  the  whole 
village  believes  the  story  now.  I  only  wish 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  211 

that  their  believing  it  might  make  it  so.  She 
thinks  her  savings  have  gone  to  ease  and  soothe 
Frank's  last  hours,  when,  in  reality,  they  are 
lining  Bunk  Bailey's  pockets.  Think  of  it! 
And  now  I  must  dig  up  more  money  at  once. 
How  shall  I  ever  do  it?"  Cold  drops  of 
moisture  stood  out  on  Henry's  forehead  as  he 
crumpled  the  paper  containing  the  figures  and 
tossed  it  into  the  waste  basket.  "I  must  have 
one  hundred  dollars  before  we  open  up  to- 
morrow to  be  on  the  safe  side." 

He  dropped  his  head  into  his  hands  and  sat 
thinking  hard  for  a  long  time.  Suddenly  a 
voice  from  the  desk  window  brought  him  to 
his  senses.  He  hastily  replaced  the  little  red 
book,  locked  the  drawer,  and  crossed  over  to 
answer  the  call. 

It  was  old  Orlie  Sprague  of  Sprague  Corners, 
who  wanted  to  draw  out  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars.  Henry  took  his  cheque 
and  counted  out  his  money.  As  he  did  so  a 
desperate  idea  took  possession  of  him.  At 
the  same  time  Sprague  happened  to  remark, 


212  OLD  JIM  CASE 

"Guess  you'd  better  give  me  small  bills, 
'cause  ter-morrow  night  I  got  ter  pay  off  my 
farm  hands,  and  besides  I  've  been  a-buildin' 
an  addition  on  ter  my  cow-barn." 

"Just  as  you  wish,  Mr.  Sprague,"  said 
Henry,  rearranging  the  bills  and  handing 
them  back.  "  Take  good  care  not  to  lose  them 
on  the  way  home." 

"Guess  there  hain't  no  danger  o'  that," 
replied  Orlie,  as  he  counted  the  bills  over. 
"Never  lost  any  as  easy  as  that.  It 's  after 
workin'  hard  fer  the  hull  season,  and  then 
findin*  the  crops  don't  pan  out  —  that 's  how 
I  lose  money,  when  I  lose  it." 

"You  should  have  a  small  safe  out  there  to 
keep  your  money  in,  Mr.  Sprague,"  said  Henry. 

"Don't  have  enough  fer  that,"  replied  the 
old  man.  "Ye  see,  I  always  hide  what  leetle 
I  have  in  the  green  vase  on  the  sittin'-room 
shelf.  Don't  know  why,  but  I  always  have. 
Seems  as  though  that  wuz  a  safe  enough  place. 
Don't  believe  a  burglar  would  expect  ter  find 
money  in  sech  a  place  as  that,  d'  ye  ?" 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          213 

"Burglar,"  thought  Bennings.  The  word 
made  him  shake,  but  he  made  no  answer  and 
turned  to  his  books. 

As  Orlie  Sprague  started  to  go,  he  said  cheer- 
fully, "Come  out  and  see  us  some  day,  Ben- 
nings, and  I  '11  show  ye  a  good  farm."  And 
then  he  stubbed  along  out. 

He  passed  the  time  of  day  with  a  few 
acquaintances,  finally  swung  himself  into  the 
old  muddy  buggy,  and,  slapping  the  lines  up 
and  down  the  old  gray's  back,  with  a  "G'lang, 
Dolly,"  they  jogged  away  up  over  the  hill  out 
of  the  village. 

Sprague's  Corners,  where  Orlie  Sprague 
and  his  good  wife  had  always  lived,  was  at 
the  end  of  a  remote  country  lane  leading  off 
the  main  road,  about  six  miles  from  South 
Hollow  and  twenty  miles  from  the  nearest 
railway  station.  Orlie  seldom  saw  much 
of  the  outside  world  save  an  occasional  trip 
to  the  feed  mill  store,  or  the  bank  at  South 
Hollow.  Visitors  rarely  came  their  way; 
wayfarers  seldom  left  the  main  road,  and  so 


214  OLD  JIM  CASE* 

seldom  passed  their  isolated  house.  Who- 
ever did  go  by,  pedestrian,  rider,  or  driver, 
constituted  an  event;  and  the  two  old  people, 
rushing  to  the  window,  watched  until  the 
"event"  was  completely  out  of  sight. 

When  Orlie  returned  this  day  from  his  trip 
to  South  Hollow  and  the  bank  he  found  a 
good,  old-fashioned  supper  awaiting  him. 
After  the  meal  was  finished,  he  and  Betsey 
sat,  as  usual,  in  the  front  room,  watching  the 
sunset.  Orlie  was  telling  her  about  his  trip 
to  the  village,  when  suddenly  he  shifted  and 
said,  "Hello,  there  comes  Higgins's  boy  down 
the  road  and  he  's  carryin'  a  pail.  Wonder 
what  he  's  got  in  that  pail." 

"Most  likely  it 's  cranberries,"  said  Betsey, 
craning  her  neck  to  see. 

"Can't  be  cranberries,"  said  Orlie,  "  'cause 
they  ain't  ripe  yet.  Must  be  eggs." 

"Nop,  'tain't  eggs,  'cause  the  Higgins 
family  only  got  six  hens  and  they  ain't 
a-layin'." 

"Wa'al,  mebbe  he  's  got  cider  in  that  pail," 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  215 

added  Orlie,  after  which  there  was  a  silence, 
neither  speaking  for  a  long  time. 

Orlie  finally  began  pulling  on  his  boots  and 
getting  ready  to  go  out  to  do  his  chores.  His 
wife  lighted  the  candle  and  started  upstairs 
to  bed.  Half  way  up,  she  suddenly  stopped 
and,  turning  her  head  slightly,  said,  with 
a  yawn,  "  Orlie,  I  don't  s'pose  we  '11 
ever  know  jest  what  Higgins's  boy  had  in 
that  pail." 

Orlie,  making  no  reply,  went  over  and 
lighted  his  lantern  and  then  passed  out  through 
the  woodshed  into  a  well-worn  path  that  led 
to  the  barn.  He  had  been  gone  only  a  short 
time  when  the  light  flickered  and  grew  dim. 
"What's  the  matter?"  he  said,  as  he  held 
up  the  lantern  and  gave  it  a  shake. 

"  Wa'al,  I  '11  be  darned  if  Betsey  hain't  gone 
and  fergot  ter  fill  ye  up.  Kind  o'  get  neglected 
like,  don't  ye,  when  I  go  ter  town  ?  Never 
mind,  we  '11  have  ter  fergive  her  this  time, 
'cause  she  has  a  lot  ter  do  when  I  'm  away." 

By  the  time  he  was  more  than  half  way 


216  OLD  JIM  CASE 

back  to  the  woodshed  after  kerosene,  he  came 
to  a  sudden  stop. 

"What's  all  that?"  he  said  under  his 
breath.  He  heard  a  window  open.  He  knew 
he  was  not  mistaken,  so  he  softly  tiptoed  to 
the  corner  of  the  house  and  looked  around. 
An  old  apple-crate  had  been  placed  under 
the  window.  Orlie  waited  patiently. 
Presently  he  heard  something  fall  to  the  floor 
and  break,  and  a  moment  later  saw  a  man 
letting  himself  quietly  down  from  the  window 
to  the  crate  below.  In  one  hand  he  tightly 
held  a  roll  of  bills. 

Old  Orlie  was  quick  to  grasp  the  situation. 
In  a  moment's  time  he  had  caught  and  thrown 
the  man  to  the  ground.  The  muscle  that 
had  been  trained  about  the  farm  and  in  the 
woods  proved  too  much  for  the  intruder,  who 
was  already  shaking  with  fright.  A  few 
punches  over  the  head  by  the  lusty  old  farmer, 
and  he  offered  no  further  resistance. 

"What  d'  ye  mean  by  crawlin'  inter  my 
sittin'-room  ? "  said  Orlie,  as  he  dragged  him 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          217 

around  the  house  and  carried  him  into  the 
woodshed. 

Betsey,  aroused  by  the  noise,  came  running 
downstairs  in  her  nightdress.  As  she  picked 
up  a  knitted  shawl  from  the  back  of  a  chair 
and  threw  it  over  her  shoulders,  she  called  out, 
"Orlie  Sprague,  fer  heaven's  sake,  what 's 
the  matter  —  somebody  been  after  the 
chickens  again  ? " 

"Bring  yer  light  in  here.  I  got  somethin* 
ter  show  ye  that 's  bigger  game  'n  a  chicken 
thief." 

Betsey  opened  the  woodshed  door.  There 
stood  Orlie,  wiping  his  brow  with  a  bandana 
handkerchief,  while  on  the  floor  before  him 
lay  the  would-be  burglar.  Betsey  threw  up 
her  hand.  ''Laws,  Orlie!"  she  exclaimed, 
"ye  hain't  killed  anybody,  have  ye  ?" 

"Not  much  o'  anybody,"  replied  Orlie,  as 
he  loosened  his  neckband  and  rolled  up  his 
shirt  sleeves.  "Betsey,"  he  went  on,  between 
breaths,  "in  about  a  minute  more  he'd 
a-been  gone  with  all  the  money  in  the  green 


2i8  OLD  JIM  CASE 

vase.  We  'd  never  a-knowed  who  took  it 
either  if  ye  had  n't  fergot  ter  fill  the  lantern. 
Ye  see,  I  wuz  a-comin'  back  ter  get  some  oil 
and  I  happened  ter  hear  the  window  open." 

Stepping  over  to  the  prostrate  form,  he 
lifted  his  man  up  by  the  shoulders  and  Betsey 
leaned  over  a  little  and  held  out  the  light. 

"Guess  he  ain't  dead,"  said  Orlie,  as  the 
captured  man  brought  both  hands  up  to 
cover  his  face.  "He's  alive  enough  ter 
realise  that  he  ain't  fit  ter  be  seen  by  decent 
folks." 

Orlie  took  the  light  from  Betsey  and  held 
it  just  above  his  prisoner.  :<Ye  might  jest 
as  well  show  up,  Bub,"  he  said,  "  'cause  I  'm 
a-goin  ter  be  kind  ter  ye  —  goin'  ter  give  ye 
a  night's  board  and  lodgin'  and  a  ride  ter  the 
village  in  the  mornin',  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter 
charge  ye  a  red  cent.  Ye  see,  me  and  Betsey 
don't  have  very  many  callers,  and  when  we 
do  we  can't  get  enough  fer  'em."  As  he 
handed  his  wife  the  light,  at  the  same  time 
keeping  both  eyes  on  the  man,  he  continued, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          219 

"I  don't  know  as  we  kin  get  enough  fer  yew, 
but  we  're  a-goin'  ter  try  and  get  'bout  five 
years." 

Here  Orlie  reached  over  and  pulled  the 
man's  hands  away  from  his  face.  "Fer  God's 
sake,  Betsey,"  he  exclaimed,  "it 's  Henry 
Bennings,  cashier  o'  the  South  Hollow  Bank!" 

He  paused,  and  then  added,  "Seems  ter 
me  as  if  I  did  invite  him  ter  come  out  some 
day  and  see  the  farm,  but  I  did  n't  expect 
he  'd  come  so  soon.  As  I  remember  it, 
Bennings,  I  told  ye  some  day.  Can't  show 
ye  much  at  night" 

Bennings  was  weak  and  exhausted  with  the 
pummeling  that  the  old  farmer  had  given 
him,  with  fright,  and  with  nervous  reaction. 
He  willingly  gave  himself  up  to  his  plight; 
and  on  the  next  morning,  Orlie  Sprague 
turned  him  over  to  Jim  Callaway,  the  village 
constable. 

Henry  Bennings  made  a  clear  confession 
of  everything,  admitting  as  well  that  he  was 
the  author  of  the  lies  that  had  driven  Frank 


220  OLD  JIM  CASE 

Ridgeway  away  from  South  Hollow.  He 
acknowledged  that  he  had  lost  money  gamb- 
ling with  Bunk  Bailey  at  Syracuse,  and  that 
he  had  used  the  bank's  funds,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  repaying  the  bank  with  the  money  he 
had  obtained  from  Hattie  Salmon.  Then 
he  told  of  Bunk  Bailey's  unexpected  visit  to 
South  Hollow  that  very  night,  demanding  a 
settlement,  which  forced  him  to  pay  Bailey 
instead  of  the  bank.  He  also  told  the  story 
of  Orlie  Sprague's  visit  to  the  bank,  and  how, 
when  he  learned  where  the  old  farmer  kept 
his  money  for  safe  keeping,  he  battled  with 
temptation  again,  for  thoughts  of  the  bank 
examiner's  visit  had  driven  him  to  desperation, 
and  to  turn  burglar  seemed  his  only  chance. 
He  confessed  that  he  fought  hard  against  the 
criminal  idea,  but  something  seemed  to 
whisper  to  him,  "  It  *s  your  only  chance. 
Go  ahead!" 

"You  know  the  rest,"  said  Bennings,  as 
he  concluded  his  confession.  His  face 
was  pale  and  haggard  as  he  sat  in  the  little 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          221 

court  room  at  South   Hollow,  awaiting  his 
sentence. 

It  was  a  long  ride  which  he  took  later  in 
the  day  with  Old  Bennett  and  Constable 
Callaway;  and,  as  the  old  stage  reached  the 
top  of  the  hill,  he  turned  and  took  one  last 
sad  look  back  into  the  serene,  peaceful  valley 
of  South  Hollow. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OLD   JIM'S    SECRET   OUT 

SINCE  the  night  that  Frank  Ridgeway 
bade  good  bye  to  the  crowd  in  Cal's 
store  and  drove  away  with  Old  Bennett,  the 
boy  had  done  well  with  himself.  Enterprise 
and  attention  to  business  had  in  time  made 
him  manager  of  the  Long  Island  Transfer 
Company,  and  his  salary  had  grown,  if  not 
to  ample,  at  least  to  comfortable  proportions; 
and  saving  and  thrift  and  right  living  had 
brought  a  snug  bank  balance  to  his  credit. 
With  the  exception  of  one  memory,  Frank 
had  put  South  Hollow  behind  him  and  had 
devoted  his  energies  to  a  struggle  with  the 
present.  But  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he 
cherished  a  hope  —  that  hope  for  the  future 
which  lends  courage  and  ambition  to  all  of 
us.  At  evening  in  his  room,  he  dreamed 


OLD  JIM  CASE  223 

and  planned  and  pleased  his  fancy  with  a 
picture  of  his  own  fireside,  where  he  would 
some  day  see  his  family  and  his  friends 
gathered.  His  was  to  be  a  home,  he  dreamed, 
such  as  he  had  known  in  his  yesterdays, 
large  and  comfortable,  with  a  glorious  garden 
and  cool,  shading  trees.  And  through  the 
garden,  or  beneath  the  trees,  there  ever 
walked  the  tender  form  of  Hattie  Salmon. 

Years  had  passed,  yet  he  had  not  had  the 
courage  to  write  to  her.  "Wonder  what  she 
thought  when  she  found  I  had  gone  ? "  he 
often  asked  himself.  "And  I  wonder  if  she 
has  ever  thought  of  me  since  ?  Perhaps  Henry 
Bennings  —  No!  No!  that  couldn't  be," 
and  he  would  turn  away  from  the  sad 
thought. 

Month  after  month  he  passed  in  this  way 
until  one  day  it  occurred  to  him  that  there 
were  other  people  in  South  Hollow.  There 
was  Old  Jim  Case.  Why  had  he  not  thought 
of  Old  Jim  before  ? 

This  belated  thought  seemed  to  invigorate 


224  OLD  JIM  CASE 

his  mind  and  body  like  an  electric  current. 
With  a  bound  he  reached  his  desk.  "Old 
Jim  Case,"  he  repeated  joyously.  "Why 
the  dickens  have  n't  I  thought  of  him 
before?" 

Hastily  snatching  paper  and  pen,  he  began 
a  letter  to  Old  Jim,  asking  about  Cal 
Hemmingway,  and  if  Hiram  Wilcox  was 
alive;  if  the  old  town  looked  the  same,  and 
how  his  checker  game  was  coming  on  these 
days;  if  it  was  as  far  to  the  king  row  for  the 
boys  as  it  used  to  be  ?  Then  without  a  falter 
he  wrote  a  full  and  satisfactory  explanation 
of  the  all-absorbing  mystery  of  South  Hollow; 
of  what  he  had  done  with  the  money  which 
was  drawn  from  the  bank  and  why  he  left 
South  Hollow  so  abruptly.  His  simple 
request  of  Jim  was  that  he  hold  his  secret 
with  him  until  the  proper  time  should  come. 
Frank  felt  sure  that  the  trust  would  be  kept. 
In  closing  the  letter  he  asked,  as  though  in 
a  spirit  of  gossip,  whether  they  were  going 
to  have  the  Salmon  reunion  at  South  Hollow 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          225 

this  year,  and  if  so,  when?  Then,  growing 
self-conscious,  he  requested  Jim  not  to  men- 
tion having  heard  from  him. 

When  Jim  Case  received  the  letter  he  let 
out  a  warwhoop,  which  he  quickly  smothered; 
for  he  intended  to  do  just  as  Frank  had 
requested  and  to  keep  the  contents  of  the 
letter  a  secret 

However,  when  he  went  down  to  CaFs 
store  that  night,  there  seemed  to  be  something 
the  matter  with  him.  He  could  not  play 
checkers  because  he  was  unable  to  concen- 
trate his  thoughts.  His  pipe  did  n't  have 
the  same  taste  because  he  smoked  it  too  fast. 
Anybody  could  see  that  something  unusual 
was  on  Old  Jim's  mind. 

Cal  had  been  busy  writing  up  his  books  and 
had  stayed  a  little  later  than  usual  at 
the  store,  and  Old  Jim  was  sitting  there 
thinking,  while  all  the  other  "sitters"  had 
gone  home  and  left  him. 

"What 's  ben  the  matter  with  ye,  Jim  ?  Ye 
hain't  ben  yerself  all  day,"  said  Cal,  looking 


226  OLD  JIM  CASE 

up  from  his  work  as  he  reached  over  and 
dipped  his  pen  for  a  fresh  supply  of  ink. 

"Say,  Cal,"  grunted  Jim,  "when  someone 
tells  ye  somethin'  and  then  tells  ye  ye  must  n't 
tell,  it 's  tough.  It 's  jest  hell  ter  keep  a 
secret,  hain't  it  ? " 

"Dunno,"  said  Cal;  "never  kept  one." 

"Wa'al,  I  hain't  a-goin'  ter  keep  this  one 
much  longer,  er  the  fust  thing  I  know  I  '11 
be  licked  good  and  plenty  at  checkers. 
Missed  a  couple  of  goose  walks  ter-day,  and 
all  on  account  of  that  darned  secret  I  'm 
a-trying'  ter  keep.  Ye  see  I  've  ben  a-thinkin* 
that  if  yew  and  I  both  knowed  this  secret 
tergether,  we  could  help  each  other  ter  keep 
it,  fer  ye  see  if  I  should  get  ter  talkin*  too 
much,  yew  could  kind  o'  snap  yer  finger  er 
cough  er  somethin'  and  remind  me,  and  I 
could  do  the  same  fer  yew." 

Cal  Hemmingway  suddenly  stopped  work- 
ing. He  swung  his  stool  half  way  around 
from  his  desk,  and,  as  he  pushed  his  pen- 
holder back  over  his  ear,  he  said,  "O'  course, 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  227 

Jim,  if  ye  think  't  would  be  a  help  ter  ye, 
why  I  'd  be  willin'  ter  have  ye  tell  me,  and 
I  '11  promise  I  '11  do  the  best  I  kin  not  ter 
tell  another  livin'  beinV 

At  this  Jim  rose  and  walked  over  close  to 
Cal.  Although  they  were  all  alone  in  the 
store,  Jim  looked  carefully  around  and  then 
leaned  over  and  whispered  in  Cal's  ear,  "I  Jve 
heard  from  Frank  Ridgeway." 

"Frank  Ridgeway!"  exclaimed  Cal. 
"Wa'al,  I  would  n't  a-believed  it  o'  yew,  Jim, 
fer  ye  ben  a-laughin'  and  a-sayinj  that  it  wuz 
all  a  humbug.  What  kind  o'  a  communication 
wuz  it  ?  Slate  writin'  er  table  rappin's  ?" 

"  'T  wa'n't  neither.  What  d'  ye  think  I  'm 
a-talkin'  'bout  ?  Spooks  and  fairies  ?  I  tell 
ye  I  beared  from  Frank  Ridgeway.  Had  a 
letter  from  him.  Now  d'  ye  understand  ?' ' 

"  But  Frank  Ridgeway  Js  dead,  'cause  Henry 
Bennings  said  so  —  said  he  died  in  some 
hospital  down  in  New  York,"  returned  Cal. 

"Don't  ye  believe  he's  dead,  fer  ye '11 
find  him  pretty  much  alive,"  said  Jim. 


228  OLD  JIM  CASE 

"Get  out!  Ye  don't  mean  he  's  alive  and 
livin',  d'  ye  ? "  said  Cal,  stepping  down  from 
his  high  stool. 

They  both  walked  over  and  took  seats  by 
the  old  stove,  and  Cal  said,  "Did  ye  let  him 
have  it?" 

"Have  what?"  said  Jim,  for  the  first  time 
speaking  above  a  whisper. 

"Why,  whatever  't  wuz  he  wanted.  He 
would  n't  be  writin'  yew  after  all  these  years 
without  he  wanted  somethin',  would  he?" 

"Wa'al,  what  he  's  a-wantin'  he  's  a-goin' 
ter  get,  but  he  hain't  asked  her  yet." 

"Her!"  said  Cal,  with  a  surprised  look. 

"Yes,"  said  Jim.  "It's  like  this.  I 
knowed  he  always  cared  fer  Hattie  Salmon 
and  most  everybody  'bout  here  knows  she  's 
always  ben  in  love  with  him.  Now,  I  '11 
tell  ye,  Cal  —  jest  move  up  a  leetle  closer." 
Jim  again  lowered  his  voice  and  almost 
whispered,  "Frank  Ridgeway  told  me'  all 
about  his  troubles,  that  is,  the  troubles  that 
sent  him  away  from  South  Hollow.  That 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          229 

boy  wuz  square  and  don't  ye  ferget  it.  Listen 
ter  me,  Cal,  and  I  '11  tell  ye  somethin'  ye  never 
knowed.  Ye  remember  Hiram  Wilcox's 
story  of  the  drownin'  o*  Budge  Ridgeway, 
his  father?" 

"Yes,"  assented  Cal  with  interest.  "What 
about  it?" 

"Hold  yer  hosses,"  said  Old  Jim.  "Wait 
till  I  tell  ye.  When  Budge  died,  he  had  a 
note  in  Salmon's  bank  fer  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  No  one  knowed  'bout  it,  er  fer 
what  purpose  't  wuz  given,  not  even  his 
mother.  Frank,  ye  see,  wuz  a-sparin'  of  her 
feelin's,  so  he  never  told  her  'bout  it,  but  that 
boy  jest  worked  hard  and  said  nothin'  and 
saved  up  his  money  a  leetle  at  a  time,  and 
when  Old  Timothy  Salmon  closed  down  on 
that  note,  that  boy  wuz  right  there,  and  with 
the  goods,  and  he  paid  that  note  in  full.  And 
then,  without  a  word  ter  save  himself,  he 
stood  fer  all  the  lyin'  gossip  'bout  spendin' 
the  money,  which  come  from  that  jealous  pup 
of  a  Henry  Bennings,  and  jest  as  soon  as  I 


230  OLD  JIM  CASE 

read  this  letter  that  I  got  here,  I  saw  through 
it  all." 

"Ye  don't  tell  me  so!"  said  Cal,  with 
genuine  surprise. 

"Yes,  I  do  tell  ye  so,"  repeated  Old  Jim, 
with  assumed  coolness.  "And  I  '11  tell  ye 
somethin'  more.  I  've  written  Frank  Ridge- 
way  that  the  Salmon  reunion  is  ter  be  next 
week  Thursday  and  that  I  'd  meet  him 
Wednesday  'bout  7  P.  M.  in  Syracuse,  and 
that  I  'd  drive  him  over  here  after  dark  so 
that  no  one  'ud  see  him,  and  then  I  'm  a-goin' 
ter  keep  him  under  cover  all  day  at  my  house." 

"Wa'al,"  interrupted  Cal,  at  the  same 
time  lighting  a  fresh  cigar  from  the  old  stub, 
as  if  he  had  given  up  going  home  entirely. 
"Wa'al,  how  're  ye  a-goin'  ter  get  'um 
tergether?" 

"It's  ter  be  a  surprise,"  said  Jim,  "the 
biggest  surprise  ever  sprung  on  South  Hollow. 
I  've  hired  the  town  hall  fer  Thursday  night 
and  the  Onondaga  Indian  Orchestra  is  comin* 
over.  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  give  them  spiritualists 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          231 

a  seance  that  '11  be  a  real  one,  by  hooky,  and 
at  the  same  time  show  'em  them  new  seats 
that  the  village  got  by  electin'  you  president. 
Ter  open  the  evenin'  I  've  made  arrange- 
ments with  Professor  Kaleb  Klucker,  a  me- 
dium, and  at  the  close  o'  his  performance  he 's 
a-goin'  ter  do  the  spirit  cabinet  act."  Here 
Jim  glanced  over  his  shoulders  as  if  once  more 
to  make  sure  that  they  were  alone  in  the  store 
and  then  whispered  again  in  Cal's  ear. 

" Wa'al,  I  '11  be  darned,"  said  Cal.  "Ye  're 
a  wonder,  Jim  Case,  and  no  mistake  about  it." 

"I  figured  it  all  out,"  chuckled  Old  Jim, 
"and  it  can't  fail." 

"Wa'al,  I  'm  with  ye,"  said  Cal,  slapping 
Jim  on  the  back,  "and  spirits  er  no  spirits, 
ye  kin  call  on  me.  I  '11  do  anythin*  ter  help 
Frank  back  ter  his  proper  standin'  in  this 
community." 

Then  Cal  went  back  to  his  desk  and  Old 
Jim  started  homeward  with  the  heavy  weight 
of  a  big  secret  lessened  by  half. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    SALMON   REUNION 

IN  AND  about  South  Hollow  there  were 
many  families  bearing  the  same  name, 
all  of  whom  claimed  to  be  the  descendants 
of  Abraham  Conklin  Salmon  who  came  to 
this  country  and  settled  in  the  year  1772. 
It  had  been  the  custom  for  a  long  time  for 
all  these  families  to  meet  at  South  Hollow  once 
every  year  and  have  a  family  reunion.  This 
fact  was  responsible  for  the  red,  white,  and 
blue  streamers  which  decorated  the  tavern 
on  this  bright  summer's  morning,  and  also 
for  the  big  sign  which  stretched  across  the 
four  corners,  with  large  letters  spelling 
"Welcome." 

Cal  Hemmingway,  the  proprietor  of  the 
South  Hollow  store,  and  now  the  president 
of  the  village,  had  been  anticipating  this  event 


OLD  JIM  CASE  233 

for  some  time,  and  therefore  it  was  not  wholly 
unexpected  when  he  appeared  in  a  "boiled 
shirt,5*  brand  new  celluloid  collar  and  a  large 
red  bow  tie. 

In  order  that  the  Salmon  family  should 
have  particular  attention  when  visiting  his 
store,  he  had  printed  and  hung  up  a  sign  on 
the  lamp  fixture,  which  read  as  follows: 


NO  CHECKERS  OR  DOMINOES 
TO  BE  PLAYED  IN  THIS  STORE 
DURING  THE  SALMON  REUNION 


When  Jim  Case  came  in  and  saw  that 
sign,  he  insolently  remarked,  "Afraid  ter 
have  Jem  see  ye  git  licked,  eh  ?" 

"Wa'al,  I  were  n't  afraid  ter  hang  the  sign 
up,  wuz  I  ? "  was  Cal's  reply. 

Cal  confidentially  expected  the  largest  day's 
business  of  the  year,  and  had  ordered  an  extra 
box  of  Golden  Buck  cigars  from  the  city, 


234  OLD  JIM  CASE 

which  had  arrived  two  days  before.  As  he 
opened  the  box,  the  thought  occurred  to  him 
that  if  he  put  them  out  on  top  of  the  show- 
case, it  would  save  a  lot  of  time  and  also  the 
work  of  continually  taking  them  out  and 
putting  them  back;  so  he  pinned  a  little  card 
on  the  box  cover,  which  read,  "Try  a  Golden 
Buck,"  and  left  them  on  top  of  the  showcase. 

A  little  later  the  various  Salmon  families 
began  to  arrive  in  South  Hollow.  They  came 
from  every  direction  and  in  all  kinds  of  rigs. 
At  ten  o'clock  there  was  a  string  of  waggons 
at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long  lined  up  along 
the  roadway.  Everybody  attending  the 
family  reunion  wore  a  long  yellow  badge  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  a  fish  representing  a 
salmon  and  the  words  "Family  Reunion," 
underneath  which  was  the  date,  1772. 

The  first  man  to  enter  Cal  Hemmingway's 
store  on  that  eventful  day  was  a  little  short 
farmer  with  chin  whiskers.  In  one  hand  he 
held  a  badge.  "Got  sech  a  thing  as  a  safety- 
pin?"  he  asked,  holding  the  yellow  ribbon 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          235 

up  to  his  lapel.  Cal  immediately  produced 
the  necessary  article  and  pinned  the  badge  in 
its  proper  place. 

Here  Jim  Case  spoke  up:  "I  warrant  ye 
found  the  roads  kind  o'  muddy  drivin'  over, 
didn't  ye?" 

"Wuz  n't  so  bad,"  replied  the  man  with 
the  yellow  badge,  "until  we  got  ter  comin' 
in  ter  South  Holla." 

" Where  'd  ye  hitch?" 

"Put  up  over  ter  the  tavern,"  replied  the 
farmer,  handing  Jim  a  cigar.  "It 's  as  good 
a  place  as  ye  got  'bout  here,  hain't  it  ? " 

Old  Jim  bit  off  the  end  of  the  cigar.  "I 
s'pose  't  is,  it  bein'  the  only  one,"  said  he 
sententiously. 

Then  he  scratched  a  match  along  the 
counter,  and,  holding  it  up  between  his  two 
hands,  said,  between  puffs,  "My  —  name  — 
is  Jim  —  Case.  S'pose  ye  're  a  Salmon." 

"No.  I  hain't,"  responded  the  farmer, 
"but  my  wife  wuz  a  Salmon.  She  wuz  the 
only  daughter  of  Theodore  Cunningham  Sal- 


236  OLD  JIM  CASE 

mon.  Ye  must  Ve  heared  o'  him;  died  'bout 
a  year  ago,  and  it  *s  six  weeks  ter-morrow 
that  we  put  up  a  monument  ter  his  grave 
that  weighed  two  ton." 

"Two  tons!"  repeated  Jim,  tossing  the 
burnt  match  into  the  sawdust  box.  "It 
must  Ve  ben  a  real  whopper." 

By  this  time  a  crowd  had  gathered  at  the 
South  Hollow  store.  Presently  Cal,  in  his 
capacity  as  postmaster,  called  out  that  there 
was  an  envelope  that  had  come  over  in  the 
last  mail  addressed  to  Mr.  Salmon.  Every 
man  in  the  store  jumped  up. 

"Wa'al,"  said  Cal,  "there's  only  one 
envelope  and  'bout  twenty  Salmons.  Guess 
I  'd  better  get  down  the  dice  box." 

Accordingly  the  box  was  brought  forth 
and  each  had  a  shake,  Philip  Henry  Salmon 
throwing  the  largest  number  and  receiving 
the  envelope,  which  he  tore  open.  Then  he 
read  the  contents  aloud. 

"On  presentation  of  this  card  and  five  new 
subr^ribers  to  the  South  Hollow  Gazette,  we 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          237 

will  send  free  a  twenty-five  cent  package  of 
Shell-o-See. 

"When  fed  to  hens  it  is  a  guaranteed  egg 
producer. 

"When  applied  to  lambs  it  makes  the  wool 
grow. 

"Cures  rheumatism, spavins,  and  colds. 

"When  taken  in  coffee,  cures  the  liquor 
habit." 

There  was  a  look  of  disappointment  on  the 
face  of  every  Salmon  as  Philip  tore  up  the 
advertisement,  put ,  his  hands  behind  him 
under  his  coat,  and  walked  back  to  where 
Old  Jim  Case  was  sitting.  That  worthy  had 
one  hand  in  his  pocket  rattling  his  wooden 
checkers.  He  was  more  or  less  nervous,  as 
his  mind  had  not  been  exactly  at  ease  since 
he  had  seen  the  sign  which  forbade  his 
beloved  game. 

"That  's  a  di-rect  shot  at  me,  but  I  '11 
get  even  with  Cal,"  he  said  to  himself, 
knocking  the  ashes  off  of  his  cigar  with 
his  little  finger. 


238  OLD  JIM  CASE 

After  a  prolonged  meditation,  a  new  idea 
presented  itself,  and,  calling  Philip  Henry 
Salmon  to  one  side,  in  a  confidential  manner 
he  told  him  that  the  proprietor  of  the  store, 
having  just  been  elected  President  of  the 
village,  had  placed  a  box  of  cigars  on  top  of 
the  showcase  and  wanted  all  the  Salmons 
to  have  a  smoke  on  him. 

"Ye  see,  Cal  is  big-hearted,"  continued 
Jim,  "and  he  feels  mighty  bad  'cause  yew 
people  don't  step  up  and  have  a  smoke.  He 
thinks  mebbe  ye  don't  like  the  brand,  and 
I  know  ye  'd  be  doin'  'm  a  favour  if  ye  '11  tell 
all  the  other  Salmons  how  welcome  they  be 
ter  them  cigars.  Every  man's  entitled  ter 
'em  that  wears  a  yellow  badge.  Ye  '11  see  it 
reads  on  the  cover,  "Try  a  Golden  Buck.' ' 

Philip  Henry  Salmon  gladly  agreed  to 
inform  his  relatives  of  the  proprietor's  gener- 
osity; so,  as  it  happened,  while  Cal  was  at 
the  rear  end  of  the  store  drawing  some 
molasses,  the  Salmon  family  began  to  "light 
up."  They  came  up,  one,  two  and  three  at 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          239 

a  time,  and  in  an  unconcerned  way  helped 
themselves  to  cigars. 

It  was  only  a  few  minutes  after  Cal  had 
returned  to  the  front  of  the  store  that  he 
observed  two  old  gentlemen  deliberately  walk 
up  and  each  take  a  Golden  Buck.  They 
lighted  them,  and,  continuing  their  conver- 
sation, walked  serenely  away.  As  they  opened 
the  front  door,  Cal  roared  out,  "Hey,  there! 
Hain  't  yew  fellers  what 's  goinj  out  of  that 
front  door  fergot  somethin'  ? " 

They  stopped,  felt  in  each  pocket,  and 
promptly  answered,  "Nope;  we  did  n't  have 
no  umbrellas,"  and  closed  the  door  after 
them. 

"But  ye  had  a  couple  o*  Golden  Bucks," 
Cal  shouted,  as  he  jumped  over  the  counter 
and  flew  out  of  the  door  and  up  the  street 
until  he  had  overtaken  them.  His  hands 
came  down  on  their  shoulders  like  sledge 
hammers.  "Be  ye  a-goin'  ter  pay  fer  them 
cigars,  er  hain't  ye  ? " 

The  two  old  gentlemen  leaned  back,  pulled 


24o  OLD  JIM  CASE 

up  their  lapels  and,  flapping  the  yellow  badges, 
said  in  chorus,  lWe  're  Salmons" 

""Don't  give  a  damn  if  ye 're  swordfish, 
codfish,  bullheads,  er  sunfish.  Don't  think 
fer  one  minute  ye  kin  take  me  fer  a  sucker!" 

One  of  the  old  gentlemen  made  an  attempt 
to  explain.  He  only  got  as  far  as  "  But," 
when  Cal  took  the  word  out  of  his  mouth, 
saying,  "Don't  ye  call  them  cigars  'Buts'  fer 
I  saw  ye  take  'em  out  o'  the  Golden  Buck 
box  myself.  What  I  want  is  ten  cents  —  one 
dime  —  fer  them  cigars  ye  took!" 

The  two  old  gentlemen  shook  in  their  boots, 
dug  out  five  cents  each  and  hurried  on. 

Cal  returned  at  once  to  the  store  and  found 
that  the  Salmons  had  all  gone  over  to  the 
tavern  so  as  to  be  in  time  for  the  family  dinner. 
He  then  turned  to  Jim  Case  and  told  him 
that  business  had  been  just  as  good  as  he 
had  expected  —  more  people  in  the  store 
than  ever  before  in  any  one  day. 

At  this  moment  he  discovered  the  empty 
cigar  box  on  the  showcase,  and  with  a  look 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW  241 

of  surprise,  he  added,  "And,  by  Ginger,  we 
got  rid  of  more  Golden  Buck  cigars  than  ever 
before.  Cleaned  out  a  hull  box,  and,  as  ye 
say,  Jim,  they  did  n't  have  ter  have  no  gold 
bands  on  'em  either." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SPIRITS    IN  THE  TOWN  HALL 

JIM  CASE  had  completed  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  entertainment  which  he 
was  to  give  in  honour  of  the  Salmon  Family 
Reunion.  After  their  dinner  was  over,  all 
the  Salmons  were  escorted  by  him  to  the 
town  hall.  Here,  with  the  rest  of  the  village, 
they  were  to  witness  the  wonderful  per- 
formance of  Professor  Kaleb  Klucker,  The 
Great. 

Although  a  hard  rain  had  started,  it  did 
not  interfere  with  the  interest  South  Hollow 
manifested  in  Jim  Case's  entertainment,  and 
the  town  hall  was  packed.  The  Salmons 
were  there  in  their  glory  and  the  best  of 
humour,  having  just  finished  a  good  dinner 
at  which  they  had  all  been  the  guests  of  the 

Honourable  Timothy  Salmon,  who,  with  his 

242 


PROGRAMME 
THE  WONDERFUL 

KALEB  KLUCKER 

THE  GREAT  MEDIUM 

»»D  TH1 

Greatest  Wizard  of  Our  Time 

Town  Hall,  South  Hollow,  N.Y. 


Arranged  by  JIM  CASE. 


243 


PROGRAMME— Continued 
During  the  Entertainment  the  Laws   <58 
of  Nature  are  defied 


If  condition!  are  right,  a  large  piano  will  float  over  the 
audience  and  dispense  spiritual  music.  The  complex 
and  seeming  supernatural  feats  prevail  throughout  this 
act.  Objects  and  figures  are  materialised  and  do  their 
master's  bidding. 


The  Professor  will  introduce,  for  the  first  time  in 
South  Hollow, the  marvellous  Spirit  cabinet — the  Won- 
der of  Wonders — wherein  tambourines  rattle,  banjoes 
play,  and  voices  can  be  heard  and  recognised  as  those 
from  the  spirit  world.  The  Professor  promises  to 
materialise  departed  friends  from  within  this  cabinet, 
and  return  them  to  life. 

The  curtain  will  rise  promptly  at  8  o'clock 

N.B. — After  the  performance  there  will  be  dancing  and  music  by 
the  Onondaga  Indian  Orchestra  and  Brass  Band. 

No  rowdyism  will  be  tolerated 


OLD  JIM  CASE  245 

family,  was  seated  in  the  front  row  as  a  guest 
of  special  honour. 

After  the  janitor  had  fussed  more  or  less 
successfully  with  the  lamps  which  were  to  be 
used  as  footlights,  the  bell  rang  and  the  cur- 
tain, after  several  nerve-racking  false  starts, 
finally  went  up.  A  large  American  flag  was 
used  as  a  background,  with  heavy,  red  plush 
curtains  for  the  sides.  These  belonged  to 
the  professor. 

The  Widow  Wetherby  played  a  slow  march 
on  the  organ  which  had  been  put  in  the  town 
hall  for  services  while  the  interior  of  the 
Methodist  Church  was  being  redecorated; 
and  the  professor,  in  making  his  entrance,  at 
first  tried  to  keep  step  with  the  music,  but  at 
last  gave  it  up  and  walked  to  the  front.  He 
appeared  in  a  dress  coat  with  a  velvet  collar, 
brown  trousers,  a  black  bow  tie,  and  a  cellu- 
loid dicky  from  which  blazed  a  large  six- 
carat  rhinestone.  Under  his  left  arm  he 
carried  the  "magic  wand,"  a  short  ebony 
stick  with  brass  tips. 


246  OLD  JIM  CASE 

He  began  the  performance  with  the  state- 
ment that  his  experiments  were  entirely  inde- 
pendent of  dexterity,  and  that  he  proposed  to 
show  one  and  all  how,  by  the  aid  of  occult 
science,  he  could  perform  wonders.  Then 
he  asked  Jim  Case  to  think  of  something.  In 
an  instant,  the  magician  declared  that  the 
object  of  Jim's  thoughts  was  a  checker-board, 
and  then  casually  took  a  rabbit  out  of  Hiram 
Wilcox's  hat.  The  audience  applauded  wildly 
at  these  and  other  clever  tricks  their  enter- 
tainer performed. 

Finally  he  came  to  the  great  masterpiece. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  with 
profound  solemnity,  "I  am  about  to  intro- 
duce the  wonderful  spirit  cabinet,  the  same  as 
used  by  the  marvellous  and  world-famous 
Davenports,  and  I  intend  to  do  everything 
exactly  as  advertised." 

Here  the  American  flag  was  drawn  aside 
and  the  wonderful  cabinet  was  exposed  to 
view.  It  consisted  of  a  platform  and  four 
poles  with  black  plush  curtains  which  were 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          247 

hung  on  all  sides.     The  front  curtains  were 
decorated  with  large  gold  letters,  which  read 

KLUCKER    THE    GREAT 

He  turned  the  cabinet  around  to  show  all  its 
sides  and  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
four  legs  were  high  enough  so  that  all  could  see 
underneath.  Then  he  placed  a  chair  inside  and 
put  a  banjo  on  it;  on  the  floor  of  the  cabinet 
he  put  tambourines  and  bells.  Then  he  closed 
the  curtains.  Immediately  the  banjo  began  to 
play  and  the  tambourines  and  bells  rattled  and 
jingled.  After  a  moment  or  two  he  drew  back 
the  curtains  and  everything  was  found  to  be 
just  the  same  as  he  had  placed  it. 

After  a  few  more  wonderful  experiments,  Jim 
Case  stepped  upon  the  stage.  He  held  up  his 
hand  to  check  the  applause  which  greeted  him. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  in  a  most  solemn 
tone,  "I  am  requested  to  announce  the  death  of 
our  oldest  inhabitant,  Mr.  Winnie  Fowler 
and  to  say  that  Elmer  Perkins  is  wanted  at 
the  front  entrance." 


248  OLD  JIM  CASE 

All  was  silent  except  the  monotonous 
squeak  of  Perkins's  shoes  as  he  tip-toed  up  the 
aisle,  an  unconscious  smile  overspread  his 
countenance  when  he  caught  many  hope- 
ful glances  from  his  patient  creditors. 

Jim  waited  until  he  had  passed  out  and 
then  once  more  addressed  the  audience: 

"The  reason  I  've  hired  this  hall  ter-night 
and  en-gaged  the  Professor  is  because  I 
had  heard  'bout  one  particular  manifestation 
which  he  claims  he  kin  do,  and  he  has 
assured  me  that  he  kin  show  this  'ere  cabinet 
empty  and  in  less  'n  three  minutes  pre-duce 
a  departed  friend.  Now,  I  'm  sure  that 
there  be  some  o*  our  townsmen  and  friends 
here  ter-night  what 's  studied  and  got  proof 
beyond  a  doubt  o'  this  wonderful  spirit 
power.  I  've  heard  of  a  lot  o'  private  and 
select  gatherin's  a-takin'  place  in  this  village, 
and  I  'm  sure  that  there  be  some  o'  the 
believers  o'  this  great  spiritual  power  with  us 
here  ter-night.  Now,  ter  help  things  along, 
if  some  one  '11  be  kind  enough  ter  call  fer 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          249 

sech  a  person  or  friend,  why  we  'II  jest  have 
a  chance  ter  see  whether  the  Professor  is 
a-humbuggin'  us  er  not." 

Cal  Hemmingway  took  his  cue  instantly, 
and,  with  a  knowing,  covert  wink  in  Jim's 
direction,  stood  up,  and,  addressing  the  Pro- 
fessor, said,  "If  conditions  be  right,  I  'd  like 
ter  call  fer  a  friend  who  departed  from  South 
Hollow  some  time  ago,  'cause  I  believe  every- 
body here  'ud  like  ter  see  him,  and  so  I  call 
fer  the  spirit  o'  Frank  Ridgeway." 

Absolute  silence  fell  like  a  mantle  on  the 
mystified  audience.  The  dim  lights  that 
flickered  from  the  smoky  lamps  cast  a  weird 
reflection  about  the  dingy  old  hall.  The  only 
sound  was  the  patter  of  rain  on  the  tin  roof. 
The  dampness  made  the  woodwork  creak 
and  crack,  giving  forth  queer  and  uncanny 
sounds.  It  was,  all  in  all,  the  natural  night 
for  a  spiritual  seance. 

The  Professor  looked  well  his  part  as  he 
walked  toward  the  cabinet  and  closed  the 
curtains.  His  hair  was  long  and  he  rolled 


250  OLD  JIM  CASE 

his  eyes  about  in  the  fashion  of  Svengali, 
chanting  meanwhile  a  few  words  of  magic. 
Then  he  slowly  drew  back  the  curtains  before 
the  astonished  audience.  There  was  seated, 
in  what  had  been  only  a  moment  before  an 
empty  chair,  the  exact  form  and  features  of 
Frank  Ridgeway. 

The  Professor  waved  his  wand  amid  cheers 
that  almost  shook  the  very  walls  of  the  old 
town  hall.  As  the  applause  reechoed  from 
the  dim  rafters,  Hattie  Salmon  sat  numb,  as 
though  death  had  claimed  her  also.  She 
could  not  believe  her  eyes.  Her  heart  gave 
one  big  -throb  as  the  curtains  parted,  and 
then  stood  still.  Frank!  Could  it  be?  Was 
it  a  dream  ?  She  did  not  try  to  move,  nor 
speak,  nor  breathe.  The  name  formed  on 
her  lips  again.  Frank!  The  image  she 
looked  upon  in  that  cabinet  was  the  image 
engraved  upon  her  heart  so  long  ago.  Was 
it  all  really  a  spiritual  seance,  or  was  it 
magic  ? 

Slowly  but  truly  the  form  of  her  lover  came 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          251 

down  to  the  footlights,  and  then  down  the 
improvised  stairs  into  the  audience.  He 
greeted  his  fellow  friends  one  and  all,  all 
around. 

Old  Jim  Case  still  stood  on  the  platform, 
but  he  was  not  spellbound  by  supernatural 
influences.  He  was  intently  watching  Hattie 
Salmon  and  the  effect  of  his  machinations. 
It  warmed  the  cockles  of  Old  Jim's  heart,  as 
recognition  found  its  sweet,  slow  way  into  the 
souls  of  these  two. 

In  the  meantime  Hattie  had  regained  a 
partial  composure,  yet  still  hesitating  to 
believe  her  eyes.  Would  he  notice  her  ? 
The  thought  brought  a  flush  to  her  cold, 
white  cheeks.  In  a  moment  he  was  by  her 
side. 

"Hattie,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Have 
you  forgotten  me  ? " 

She  scarcely  comprehended  her  joy  at 
his  words.  He  drew  her  away  to  one 
side,  to  a  corner  apart  from  the  chattering 
crowd. 


OLD  JIM  CASE 

"Hattie,"  he  repeated,  "do  you  remember 
your  promise  ?  Do  you  remember  that 
Thanksgiving  Day,  the  day  your  father  invited 
me  to  dinner,  when  you  presided  and  brought 
to  me  the  hope  I  have  always  cherished  ? 
Have  I  won  or  lost  ? "  he  asked  in  a  low,  calm 
voice,  as  he  held  before  her  love-lit  gaze  a  half 
of  a  whitened  wish-bone. 

"You  have  won,"  she  said  shyly.  "But 
there  are  others  anxious  to  see  you  now;  we 
must  wait,  dear." 

The  chairs  were  quickly  moved  back.  On 
to  the  stage,  in  place  of  the  wonderful  spirit 
cabinet,  the  Indian  orchestra  marched;  and 
then  there  followed  the  liveliest  dance  ever 
seen  in  South  Hollow.  Before  its  close  Old 
Jim  Case  announced  the  engagement  of 
Hattie  Salmon  and  Frank  Ridgeway.  As 
he  concluded,  he  turned  to  Cal.  "Ye  know, 
Cal,  sence  Lem  Wetherby  died,  I  hain't  had 
much  to  do  with  spirits,  but  ter-night  I  'm 
intoxicated,  and  't  ain't  from  a-drinkin' 
Squirrel  whiskey  neither." 


OF  SOUTH  HOLLOW          253 

The  sun  was  just  peeping  over  the  eastern 
hills  into  South  Hollow  when  the  Onondaga 
Indian  Orchestra  played  their  last  piece. 
It  was  the  Wedding  March. 


'BECAUSE  NOBODY  CAN'T  PLEASE  EVERYBODY 
HAIN'T    NO    SEASON    WHY   A  FELLOW 
SHOULDN'T  TRY  TO  PLEASE  SOMEBODY." 

— Jim  Case. 


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